


Grace, Too

by Meggory



Series: Beekeeping and Husbandry AU [2]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Jedi Master Dooku, Master!Dooku, Padawan!Ventress, side pairing: Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/pseuds/Meggory
Summary: When Master Dooku receives a garbled transmission from his crèchemate Ky Narec, he goes looking for one apprentice and finds another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! This story takes place after the events of Beekeeping and Husbandry, which is marked as the beginning of this series, and there are some things that you may not follow if you haven't read that story first (hence the series and not a standalone). Everyone has been so positive about Master Dooku that I wanted to feature him in his own story. This will not be as long as B&H, because honestly, nope. I hope you enjoy!

The problem with the Temple of Eedit, Dooku had decided, was the unending tide of people. The frown on his face was enough to scare away everyone under the age of forty out of his path, but he still had to maneuver around far too many Jedi for his taste. He should have been able to take his time, to reach Jocasta Nu’s quarters looking impeccable and unbothered. Resisting the urge to cluck his tongue in annoyance, he slipped around a pair of young Knights arguing quietly and blocking half the hallway. He promptly skidded to a halt to avoid flattening Ahsoka Tano.

The young Initiate matched his glare and went so far as to throw her hands up in exasperation. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Master Dooku!”

He quirked a single eyebrow at her tone but motioned her to follow him. Together they strode down the corridor. Ahsoka had to trot to keep up with his long stride. “I’ve only been in my quarters for the entire afternoon, child,” he retorted.

“And you weren’t there when I was looking for you!” protested the girl. He shot her a stern glance, which earned him a proper repentant lowering of her eyes. “Sorry, Master. I really was trying to find you.”

The girl already had Obi-Wan wrapped around her little orange finger, and Qui-Gon was hardly better. Someone had to uphold some sense of discipline and propriety in his future great-grand-Padawan. “Why, exactly, were you searching me out, Initiate Tano?” he asked.

“I’m on messenger duty today. The computer comms are down again for upgrades.”

He said nothing. His silence was a well-crafted tool, and the Togrutan was very intelligent beneath her brash enthusiasm. Her blue eyes widened slightly as she realized she had not answered the question to his satisfaction. “A message was picked up by the subspace antenna. It was marked for you, Master.” She plucked a data chip from her belt pouch and held it out for him.

“Who sent it?” he asked, taking the chip from her fingers.

She shrugged. “Data’s been badly corrupted. The technicians did their best, Master, but they said what you have is the best they could piece together.”

“Very well. Carry on, child.” He paused, remembering that she was, eventually, going to be a member of his lineage. “Thank you, Ahsoka.”

She rewarded him with a brilliant smile and a hasty Initiate’s bow before she dashed away. He snorted to himself; let someone else chide her for running in the halls. Even Piell would set her straight if he caught her. Dooku continued on his way, clasping the chip in his fist. His circle of friends was limited, even within the Order, and those precious few still in the Republic had been silent since the Order’s expulsion from Republic space a year ago. Who was sending him a message now? Obi-Wan was not out on a mission, Qui-Gon never left, Yoda was on Ilum—

“What do you have there?” Jocasta Nu stood in her doorway, a bemused look dancing over her features. “You’ve been standing at my door for a minute now, just staring into space.”

Startled out of his musings, Dooku dipped his head to her. “My apologies, Jocasta.” She smiled warmly and stepped into her small quarters to allow him entry.

Qui-Gon might tease him for his longstanding end-of-week activity with Jocasta, but the familiar ritual of spending quality time with his crèchemate helped keep him grounded. He had once heard his grand-Padawan whisper something about Dooku’s taste in romantic partners; Dooku had icily informed Obi-Wan that Jocasta had no inclination to that end, and Dooku generally agreed. The chance to stave off loneliness without the pressure of anything else was something they both appreciated.

“Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” she asked as he removed his boots and hung his cape on the peg by the door. She motioned for him to sit on her worn sofa, where a tea tray complete with his favourite cookies waited.

“A message, but I can’t imagine who could have sent it. Everyone I know is here,” he joked, and Jocasta chuckled.

“Then play it and slake your curiosity.”

He quirked his lips. “And yours?”

“But of course. Yoda’s not the only keeper of gossip around here.” He held out the data chip between two fingers, and she grabbed it with a wicked grin. She rummaged through a tidy pile of datapads stacked on the end-table until she found the one she wanted, then carefully pushed the chip into the reader. Her knee cracked loudly as she sat down next to him.

“I thought they’d fixed that.”

She shrugged. “You can’t fix getting old, Dooku.”

“Indeed.” With a tap of her finger, the message sputtered to life. Dooku leaned forward in surprise as he recognized the grainy, flickering image of Ky Narec.

The sound was tinny and kept cutting out; the data was badly damaged. “Dooku, if you get this message, then I’m dead—important—found—she needs—apprentice—Rattatak—help her, Dooku. She needs you.” The static overwhelmed Ky’s image and the projection winked out.

Jocasta had her hand pressed against her breast. “I thought he was dead, Dooku. It’s been years since he went missing,” she whispered.

Dooku remembered when Ky did not return from his mission to the Outer Rim; Jocasta had taken the loss of their last remaining crèchemate hard. He fiddled with the datapad, trying to access the message’s metadata. It was also heavily damaged, but the original date of transmission was over seven months ago. “If the message is true, then he is dead, Jo,” he said softly, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. He offered her a clean handkerchief and studiously ignored her as she dabbed at her eyes.

“But what of the rest of the message?” she finally said. Her voice did not waver.

There was only one staticky phrase that came to Dooku’s mind, and it overwhelmed him. _She needs you._ “Komari,” he whispered.

*

“This is madness, Master,” Qui-Gon repeated, his frustration palpable. “You can’t go gallivanting around the galaxy, to Rattatak of all places, based on a corrupted transmission from someone we all thought to be dead!”

Dooku levelled a flat look at his Padawan. “I am a Jedi Master, and a High Councilor, and I can gallivant wheresoever I please.” He hitched his travelling bag a little higher on his shoulder and scanned the sky for his incoming transport.

Qui-Gon huffed in irritation. “At least let someone go with you.”

“Why? Am I not capable of defending myself, or of conducting an investigation, or of negotiation?”

“I did not say that, Dooku,” Qui-Gon retorted. “I just don’t want—”

“You don’t want me hurt. I understand,” Dooku replied. The transport’s silhouette was visible on the horizon. “I am capable of taking care of myself.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Qui-Gon rested his hand on Dooku’s shoulder and fixed him with an intent gaze. “I don’t want you hurt. Whatever—whoever—is on Rattatak might not be what you expect. She might not be there. She might not be who you remember her to be.”

Those blue eyes were boring into his soul. “I have to know,” Dooku admitted quietly. “If she is there, I have to see her. I have to—little gods, Qui-Gon, I don’t know what I will do or say, but if there’s even the chance that she’s alive… I owe her whatever she wants from me. If she wants me to leave, I’ll leave. If she wants me to bring her home, I’ll bring her home.”

Qui-Gon’s words were solemn. “And if she wants you dead? If she’s Fallen? If she tries to kill you, Master?”

Dooku did not answer as he watched the transport slowly descend to the platform. He would not harm her, no matter what her reaction. He had already done more damage to his former apprentice than was forgivable.

Qui-Gon squeezed Dooku’s shoulder. “Please send me status reports. It’s the least you can do.”

“Very well, Padawan. I’ll let you know when I’ve arrived.”

Dooku started towards the lowering transport ramp and was not quite out of earshot when he heard Qui-Gon mutter, “I don’t know which would be worse, finding her or not.”

*

The transport was slow and cold; it was an indication of both the captain’s miserliness and the dire state of the Jedi Order’s finances since the Expulsion a year ago. Dooku had exactly no desire to wander the ship or to engage in conversation with the meagre crew, so he locked himself in his narrow cabin and decided to take a nap. Sleep eluded him. His mind raced in circles, preoccupied with one thing: Komari Vosa.

His second Padawan. Razor sharp in mind and word, and lovely in face and soul. He had plucked her from her peers on her twelfth birthday. She had never experienced the fear of failure that apprentices inevitably held when they were chosen just before they turned thirteen, and it showed. Komari had been a joy to teach—so different from Qui-Gon, his headstrong little boy who made friends with everyone, sentient or otherwise, and who found new rules to break at every opportunity, unintentionally or not. Dooku’s blonde girl was serious. She struggled with her navicomp class. Together she and Dooku would sit at their coffee table, solving hyperspace calculations on flimsi amidst a mess of teacups and eraser shavings. On the last day of the week, if they were in-Temple, they would occupy each end of their couch to read the afternoon away. Komari tucked her feet up, and he would withdraw the packet of biscuits from his pocket and place it on the cushion between them.

Komari liked the ginger biscuits best.

From his breast pocket, he pulled a worn, faded flatpic smaller than the palm of his hand. The edges had frayed and yellowed from the oils and worrying of his fingers. Komari looked at him, caught in a moment of happy repose after defeating every opponent in the junior Padawan sparring tournament. Two bright pink spots marred her cheeks and sweat shone on her forehead. Her right eye sported the angry beginnings of a black eye courtesy of an earlier flying elbow. Her smile, though—wide and proud with overlarge adult teeth not yet proportionate with her growing body. She had been so proud of herself, and yet had humbly thanked each opponent with a handshake and a self-deprecating quip. Afterwards, on their way back to their shared quarters, he had said, “There is such a thing as being too humble, Padawan. You fought and defeated everyone today. Be proud of your accomplishment today, for tomorrow may bring defeat.”

She had puffed up a tiny bit and continued down the hall with her chin a little higher. “Yes, Master.”

Dooku ran his thumb along the edge of the flatpic. He had destroyed his own apprentice with his unbending adherence to the letter of the law. That moment haunted his sleep still. If he closed his eyes, he would see it.

Komari, beautiful and in that moment terrible, her golden hair gleaming in the morning sun like a crown, facing the accusations of the Jedi High Council. “I cannot lie, for that is not the Jedi way. I love him, Masters, not the way a Padawan loves her Master, but the way a woman loves a man.”

And he had said nothing. Whether it was shock, or shame, or grave disappointment, it did not matter. He had stood aside, as was expected of him in this situation, and let Yoda and the rest of the Council strip her of rank. He had not protested when the Council ordered him to publicly dissolve their training bond. He had hidden himself in their—his—quarters the day she was placed on a transport, evicted from her home and ripped from her life.

“Coward,” he whispered to himself. He should have done something. Spoken in her defense, argued for a transfer to another teaching master and a long-term assignment for him off-world—but no. He had worried about the rules and his own worthless fucking reputation instead of protecting the one person he was supposed to care for.

Her blue eyes seemed to drill into his soul from within the flatpic. He turned it over and gently tucked it back into his pocket.

Little gods, what was he getting himself into? What had the passage of time done to her, and sweet Force, what was she doing on _Rattatak?_

He sighed and turned over on his bunk. Burying his head into the too-soft pillow, he wondered if he had packed a sleep med.

*

Rattatak was a shit hole. Dooku pulled the hood of his cloak further down his forehead to cut the glare off the red rock and slipped out of the transport hangar. With a judicious application of the Force, he would be neither noticed nor remembered. The damaged metadata of Ky’s message had vaguely indicated a set of transmission coordinates, and when pressed, the captain of his transport had grudgingly agreed to land in the only port nearby. The port, Dooku quickly discovered, was a loose collection of buildings carved out of the landscape and a milling mass of murder waiting to happen. Every sentient he passed carried a minimum of two blasters, and he noted a disturbing count of vibroblades, pikes, and serrated knives. Through the Force, he extended his senses; there was no hint of Ky Narec here anymore. With a huff of annoyance, he followed a group of mercenaries to a low-roofed building. The yeasty smell of beer and the metallic smell of blood mingled in the air as they entered.

“Lovely,” he muttered, and followed them into the cantina.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark inside. He edged his way around the group of mercenaries, careful to not bump them and cause an incident, and made his way to the bar. A Siniteen with a malformed skull was wiping glasses with a decidedly dirty rag. “What?” he asked Dooku by way of greeting.

Dooku pretended to peruse the shelf of spirits. “Hallanian whiskey.”

The bartender nodded, poured a finger’s width of dark green liquid into a tumbler, but did not put it on the bar. Dooku plucked a credit chip from his pocket and slid it across the gritty surface towards the bartender. The Siniteen pocketed the chip and rested the drink on the bar. Another chip appeared from Dooku’s pocket, and he trapped it against the bar surface with his fingertip. “And some information.”

The Siniteen rolled his pupil-less eye from the credit to Dooku’s face and back to the credit. He cocked his head, waiting.

“I’m looking for a man. Human. Name’s Ky Narec.”

The Siniteen snuffed in surprise, shrugged, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder to a particularly shadowed corner of the cantina. “There,” he muttered.

Dooku released the credit chip, plucked his drink from the bar, and shored up his notice-me-not Force trick before making his way to the corner. The Force was strangely tense, as though it was waiting. Dooku shivered reflexively. His eyes adjusted further, and the only thing in the dark corner was an empty booth. Alert and suspicious, Dooku slid into the seat and grimaced at the feel of sticky synth-leather under his trousers. He automatically lifted the whiskey to his lips and took a tiny sip; it may have been Hallanian whiskey at some point, but it was too watered down to tell for certain. With a scoff, he set the glass on the table.

A cloaked figure slid into the booth across from him. “Ky, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at—” Dooku snapped his teeth together as the person flung their cloak hood back.

“How do you know that name?” she demanded. Bald as an egg and pale enough to be visible even in this terrible lighting, the girl wore a deep scowl.

“Ky Narec is a friend of mine. He sent me a message and I’m looking for him.”

The girl hesitated, and the Force jangled uncomfortably. Something was wrong. “He’s not here.”

Dooku spread his hands on the table, a casual indication that he held no weapon. The girl was jittery. “It sounds as though you know where he is. Perhaps you could be of service to me.”

His earned response was angry, bared teeth. “I don’t do that. I’m not a whore!”

“That’s not what I meant,” he assured her. “I just want to speak to Ky, that’s all. I swear that I mean him no harm.”

She stared at him and drummed her fingers on the table. He could not tell how old she was, not in this light, but she had the sound of a child who had been forced to grow up far too quickly. “If it helps, I am a Jedi, not a mercenary.”

The drumming ceased immediately. The girl leaned forward slightly, as if to get a better look at his face, and he lifted the hood of his cloak from his head. “Prove it,” she challenged.

He unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and placed it on the table alongside his arm to shield the weapon from the cantina’s view. “I have my ident card in my pocket, too, but I doubt there’s enough light for you to read it.”

“Ky’s dead.” The words were so quiet he almost missed them.

He fought to contain his surprised breath. “Dead? When?”

The girl ran a hand over her scalp. “About six months ago. Weequay raiders got the jump on us. I killed them,” she added, jutting her chin out. “I hunted every single one of them and killed them.”

“You and Ky fought together?” he asked, confused.

The girl’s gaze dropped to the table for a moment, then snapped back up to glare at him. “I was his apprentice. He took me as his Padawan.”

 _Oh, fucking Force gods, Ky—if you weren’t already dead I could kill you._ It felt as though the Force was laughing at him. Komari was not at the end of that transmission. Ky’s orphaned, murderous apprentice was. This girl was.

“What’s your name, Padawan?” he asked quietly.

The girl jumped, startled to be addressed so by another. Startled enough, perhaps, to tell the truth. “Asajj Ventress.”

Manners, as ever, were the answer to this problem. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Padawan Ventress. I am Master Dooku. Now, please tell me, did your Master have plans to bring you to the Temple for training?”

The visceral reaction was unexpected. “He was _not_ my Master! I am no longer a slave! No one _owns_ me!”

 _Bloody hells. This child is damaged goods, Ky. What were you thinking?_ “My apologies, Padawan. A simple misused term that I’m sure we can replace with something more palatable. Did your teacher want to bring you to the Temple?”

She shrugged but did not let up her baleful glare. “He talked about it, sometimes. Sometimes he would scrape enough credits together to get us off this rock, but then someone else would need it more.” Asajj clicked her teeth shut, as though realizing she had said too much. “Prove that you got a message from Ky.”

He produced a small datapad from his pocket and set it in the middle of the table. The transmission had been recorded into the memory system. With a few presses of his index finger, Ky’s grainy image appeared and began sputtering its broken message. Dooku watched the girl instead of the holoprojection. Bathed in the blue light of the holo, she appeared far younger and more vulnerable than she sounded. Surely the girl was not more than thirteen. Her bright blue eyes widened at the sight of her teacher, and the exaggerated frown of someone trying to keep their tears from falling distorted her pale features. Before the transmission ended, Dooku reached out and paused the holo playback. Tiny Ky Narec stood watching his apprentice. Asajj ducked her head under the table, and Dooku gave her the privacy to wipe her nose on her sleeve by looking out at the cantina.

The bartender was watching them. He appeared more suspicious than Dooku thought was necessary for a bartender, even in a place like this. Asajj righted herself and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t know why you came all this way.”

It felt as though the Force was screaming at him. Asajj rubbed her hands over her upper arms like she was cold. “I…I came here looking for someone, Asajj,” he said slowly, “but the person I was supposed to find is you.”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to be a Jedi Knight, Asajj Ventress?” he asked her, his voice low and serious.

Her eyes flicked to Ky’s image. “He wanted me to be a Jedi,” she whispered.

“And you?”

She slid out of the bench and stood next to the table. The holo threw her sharp features into a different relief, and his heart clenched at the purple shadow of a black eye marring her white skin. “I want to get out of here,” she declared. “When does the transport leave?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj considers her new situation.

Asajj holed herself up in the transport’s tiny bunk and keyed in a passcode lock for the door. A sigh shuddered through her. Not quite safe, not yet—not until she was off this fucking rock altogether, and even then, this old man might still betray her. She dropped her satchel on the bunk. It held nothing of particular value save for her one prized possession. Under her spare, soiled set of clothing rested the familiar bronzium finish of Ky Narec’s lightsaber. He had given it to her, gasping for breath and bleeding after the Weequay’s ambush. She drew it out reverently and dumped the bag on the floor. The hilt was cold in her hand, too large for her to wield properly, but it made do after her ‘saber’s untimely loss to a lucky blaster shot. Better her ‘saber than her hand.

If she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the Force, it felt like Ky was there, watching over her. She lay down on the bunk, not caring to remove her boots in case running was necessary in the future, and hugged the weapon to her chest. Breathing mindfully was harder these days. She spaced her inhales and exhales, feeling the air move through her lungs. Ky had taught her meditation techniques and laughed fondly at her impatience. Now when she did this, when she managed to get it right, she could feel his presence. It was warm and reassuring, but it seemed less and less tangible every time she quieted her mind.

_I don’t understand why you sent him to me! I was fine on Rattatak! I was avenging you!_

A sudden wave of disagreement answered her internal protest. She tightened her grip on the ‘saber hilt. _No, I was fine. I made enough to stay fed, and I took out that slaver who was stealing children. I don’t need some stuffy old Jedi telling me to mind my manners and do as he says._

The Force seemed to chime with laughter, but she could not tell if it was mocking her. It irritated her. She was a well-known fighter of slavers, protector of the innocents of Rattatak. She was _feared_. People came to her for help. She brought _justice._ That moment in the cantina had been an aberration; of course she could not leave Rattatak long enough to be a Jedi Knight, but maybe she could learn enough to come back and wipe out those who thought they could take and take with no regard for life or _decency_ —

The air in the bunk chilled suddenly, raising gooseflesh on her arms and tingling the back of her neck. Had she any hair, it would have been standing on end. “Ky?” she whispered. She kept her eyes closed, lest she break this unexpected connection.

She was answered with sadness and regret—regret that she wanted to go back to Rattatak, or regret that she was alone and afraid?

“I’m not afraid,” she protested.

Laughter. His laughter, wry and fond and familiar, washed over her. When it stopped, she felt bereft. More regret, and then the faintest whisper that anyone else would have blamed on the air recycler: _trust me_.

“You ask much of me,” she replied, clutching the ‘saber tighter.

The presence vanished in the space between heartbeats. In the weeks after his death, she had often felt Ky still with her, usually when she did something dangerous. Then it was only when she meditated, and the more time passed, the less frequent his visits became. It was like he was getting farther and father away with every passing day. Soon she would forget the warmth of his hand around her shoulders. He was truly leaving her. He had thrown her in with this Jedi, this Dooku, and had the gall to leave.

She tried to tamp down her anger and shore up her courage. The old man had not laid a finger nor roved his gaze over her body. The Force seemed to like him. So far he had done nothing to provoke necessary action. Only time would reveal his true nature, and now that she was off Rattatak, she had all the time in the galaxy.

A troubled sigh escaped her lips, and she slipped into an exhausted sleep, confident in the lock on the door and the ‘saber in her hand.

*

The old man had left her alone until their final day on board the transport. The captain had announced their arrival in twelve hours over the intercom, and Asajj found herself both excited at the prospect of getting off this damned ship and annoyed that their landing would not be sooner. Not long after, her door chime sounded and she punched in the code to let the door slide open.

The Jedi stood in the corridor, hands behind his back. “Good morning, Padawan Ventress. I was wondering if you would like to join me for breakfast in the mess hall.”

Before she could answer, her stomach betrayed her with a loud grumble. She tightened her lips, ready for a teasing remark, but none came. His face remained completely still, waiting patiently and politely for her answer. Grudgingly, she nodded. “I will join you.”

“Wonderful.”

The mess hall was empty save the cook puttering around the galley kitchen. “Pick a table, and I’ll fetch our trays,” he suggested. He moved towards the kitchen, then turned back. “Allergies?”

She shook her head. “No.” She paused, then added, “But no jana fruit. Please.”

The old man nodded and left her to sit. She chose the table farthest from the kitchen, which was angled so she could see both the door and the cook without having to crane her head around the Jedi’s tall frame. He returned with two trays, one much more laden with food than the other. Her stomach clenched at the sight of the sparse tray. It was more food than she would see in a week. He put the overfilled tray in front of her, the sparse one in front of himself, and sat down. “The tea on board is utter garbage,” he muttered as he picked up a thick plastisteel mug filled with steaming green liquid.

She pulled a face. “Hot leaf juice?” she said disdainfully. Ky had always had a cup of tea with breakfast, and she had always made fun of him for it. “Caff is the superior beverage.”

The Jedi gazed at her over the rim of the cup and raised his eyebrow slightly. Mortified, Asajj tried to look everywhere but at him. She could feel the hot blush rising over the tips of her ears. _What the fuck, Asa? You talk to him for the first time in a week and you insult his hot beverage?_

“I’ll be sure to leave you the dirty bean water in the future,” he replied dryly.

A joke.

The damned old man had made a joke, and the corner of his mouth was twitching with humour.

She snorted softly and tucked into her breakfast. They ate in silence for a few minutes before the Jedi spoke again. “Padawan, I want you to know that you have no obligation to me. If you decide that you want to leave Eedit, or if you would like to stay and apprentice under another Jedi, you are free to do so.”

She just stared at him, chewing her mostly identifiable bite of reconstituted powdered eggs. That was new. Normally her interactions with a man his age involved her freeing his slaves or freeing his head from his neck. Her freedom, however, was never a topic that surfaced. Not since Ky had rescued her.

Taking her silence as an opportunity to elaborate, he put down his fork neatly on the side of his plate. “I would, however, like to propose… a trial period, if you like. I would be your teacher, you would be my apprentice, with the duties and responsibilities that a permanent arrangement would expect. Ky sent for me, and I would like to honour that decision. If you agree, of course.”

“For how long?”

“Three months?”

She mulled the offer as she swallowed her mouthful of food. Three months would not be too long away from Rattatak, where her absence would be noted by the slavers. Three months of food and a bed, and so far no untoward requests or behaviour on his part. He had already guaranteed that she was not beholden to him or the Jedi Order. Asajj dropped her fork on the tray and stuck out her hand. “Deal. Three months. But I won’t call you Master.”

His face did not change, but his eyes seemed amused as he took her hand and shook it firmly. “Agreed, Padawan Ventress. My name is Dooku, and you may use it at any time.”

She did not return the offer to use her first name. Not yet.

*

After breakfast, Dooku asked, “Do you have a lightsaber?”

Technically, she had Ky’s. When she hesitated, he turned to her with a grave look. “Padawan, I want to make this clear. I cannot help you if you do not tell me the truth. As your teacher, I need as much information as possible to determine what you know and what you must learn to become a successful Jedi.” When she said nothing, he added in a softer tone, “I will keep your confidences unless I must confer with the High Council, and in that case you will either be present or know about it. I will not keep secrets from you, and I would ask the same from you.”

A tall order. Asajj pushed aside the musings about how far trust and truth would go for a time when she was alone. For now, the truth would not cost her anything. “I have Ky’s ‘saber. It’s too big for me to properly wield. My own was damaged beyond repair.”

He nodded. “Hmm. Very well. Building you a new lightsaber will be on the top of our list once we’ve settled in.” They walked through the corridor of the ship. He seemed to know where he was going. “What did Ky teach you in regards to ‘saber forms?”

“Forms?”

“Ky Narec never got past Shii-Cho,” Dooku said. He sounded oddly irritated. “His talents lay elsewhere.”

“What’s Shii-Cho?” she asked, curious.

He turned his head to stare at her for a second. “Oh, Force,” he muttered. Stopping at a double-wide door, he palmed it open. “The captain offered us the use of this space until we land.”

The half-empty cargo bay was two stories high but long and narrow. Dooku and Asajj squeezed past a few crates into the free space. He unhooked his short cape and folded it neatly on the top of a crate. “Watch,” he instructed.

Dooku began to move in the cargo bay space, running through a series of motions that were intimately familiar. Unbidden, a smile crossed her face. “I know that!” she announced.

“Then join me, Padawan Ventress,” he replied without stopping.

The movements had never had a name before; Ky had just stressed the importance of learning them so perfectly that they came as naturally as breathing. This was her favourite way to meditate—focused on her muscles and the way the air moved around her, she was asking a question that the Force answered. This meditation was just for her. It calmed her and sharpened her. When she set her foot down on the final movement, she opened her eyes to find Dooku watching her with piercing dark eyes. She raised her chin.

“You have outgrown Shii-Cho. It will serve as the foundation of everything else you learn.” His voice seemed to hold approval, and she relaxed slightly. “The fact that you can use Shii-Cho as a meditation, however…” he trailed off, and she steeled herself for the coming rebuke. “That is quite impressive. There are very few apprentices as young as you who have that mental fortitude.”

_Oh._ Shocked at the compliment, Asajj did not quite know what to do with herself. “Er, thanks?”

He nodded, pretending he had not heard the questioning tone of her words. “I am also not so humble as to pretend I am not one of the best swordsman in the Order, and certainly the best ‘saber instructor. I myself am a practitioner of the Second Form, which is called Makashi, but I will not insist that you limit yourself to Makashi. Should you wish or show a natural affinity, you may, of course, learn other Forms.”

“I don’t know anything about Forms,” she replied, adding a shrug to avoid appearing too eager to learn.

Dooku raised an eyebrow at her. “Then watch and mind my teachings.”

Asajj folded herself into sitting on the floor as Dooku began to lecture on the Forms of lightsaber combat; it was not long before he unclipped his graceful, curved ‘saber and ignited it, revealing a pale blue blade. It hummed and sang as he danced and spoke; he seemed to flow from one movement to another without a single pause or having to think about where his arms and legs would end up next. He told her of Ataru and Soresu, of Makashi and Djem So. Asajj watched him, naked awe on her face. This is what she needed to learn. He could teach her everything she needed to know to wipe the slavers off the face of Rattatak. She could bring justice to those she left behind. Just like she and Ky had done before.

*

Eedit was a perfect combination of heat and humidity. Asajj stomped on her urge to bask in the sunshine as Dooku led her from the landing pad into the Jedi Temple, but regretted not being able to stay outside as he led her through a warren of stone hallways. Finally, he stopped in front of a door. He brought his hand up to push the chime, but hesitated. When he spoke, his words were rushed. He did not look at her. “I have arrangements that I must make for you, Padawan, and it will be easier if you stay here while I do so. My former apprentice and his husband live here. They are kind and accommodating, and should you need anything while I’m running errands, you should not fear to ask them.”

Asajj scoffed. “I don’t need anything.”

A pause, then he pressed the door code. “Very well.”

The door slid open to reveal a charmingly domestic scene. A man with long hair bound in a knot at the back of his neck sat on the couch, watching the two people sitting on the floor in front of him with amused interest. A younger man with a beard that matched his red hair was taking apart a lightsaber on the low coffee table, while a young girl watched carefully beside him. She was an unfamiliar blaze of colour, blue and orange and white, and Asajj did her best not to stare. All three glanced up as Dooku stepped inside. Asajj slid in and stood half-hidden behind Dooku’s back. The man on the couch smiled. “Master! You could have let me know you’d arr—” he trailed off as his eyes marked the unexpected guest, but he covered his surprise easily. “And you’ve brought a friend for tea. Excellent. Obi-Wan, would you mind clearing off the table?”

“Of course. Glad to have you home, grand-Master,” the younger man announced. He began stacking parts onto a tray. “Ahsoka, can you go to the kitchen and start preparing the tea tray?”

The girl wrinkled her nose very slightly at the mention of tea, but her large blue eyes were fixed on Asajj. The projected curiosity was strong enough that Asajj could feel it through the Force. The younger man nudged her subtly with his elbow. “Oh! Yes, Obi-Wan,” she said, rising and hurrying around the corner.

“Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, I would like to introduce Asajj Ventress, lately apprentice to Ky Narec. Padawan Ventress, this is my first Padawan and my grand-Padawan.” Dooku pointed at the older man and the younger in turn.

Qui-Gon struggled off the couch, waving off his husband’s murmured offer of help, and approached Asajj. He bowed slightly, wincing at the motion, but spoke in an even voice that held no hint of pain. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Padawan Ventress.”

“We have undertaken a trial apprenticeship,” Dooku said stiffly.

The eyebrows on both men climbed into their hairlines. Qui-Gon’s smile widened, crinkling new lines at the corners of his eyes, and he held out his hand. “Then it is an extraordinary pleasure to meet my sister-Padawan.”

Awkwardly, Asajj reached out to take his hand. His fingers completely engulfed her hand, but he squeezed gently. In the Force, he exuded the calm, quiet vivacity of growing things. It was very pleasant to stand next to him. Obi-Wan waited for Qui-Gon to release her hand before offering his own. “I’m happy you’re here,” he said. His Force presence was sprightly overtop a steel foundation.

Asajj tried not to shift uncomfortably. They _meant_ what they said. She could feel it in the Force—no deception, no lies. These people were truly pleased to have her in their home. “Er, thanks,” she said quietly.

A clatter rang through the quarters as something fell in the kitchenette. “Sorry! It’s okay, it didn’t break!” called the girl.

“I’ll go help,” Asajj offered, her words tumbling out of her mouth. She ducked around Dooku and into the other room before anyone could protest. All that welcoming and attention was making her spine itch.

The girl was standing in the middle of a tea catastrophe. The tin had fallen to the floor, spilling its entire contents on the white tile. She glanced up at Asajj’s approach and grimaced. A wild bit of panic strained around her eyes. The look of worry was one that Asajj remembered well; her masters had never been kind when she had dropped things, and she had the scar to prove it. “Are you going to be beaten?” Asajj whispered.

“What?” the girl squeaked. Her eyes managed to widen even further. “No! Of course not! I just—this is Master Qui-Gon’s favourite tea, and I don’t want him to be upset.” She paused and offered an exaggerated shrug. “I also don’t know how I’m going to clean this up.”

“Put the tin there.” Asajj pointed at a mostly clear spot on the floor and blew out a breath. The Force was there, waiting, and with its help she managed to scoop the spilled tea and place it back into its proper place. With the task easily finished, Asajj offered the girl the tin.

“Wow!” breathed the girl with overwhelming honesty. “That was amazing! That kind of control is way beyond me.” Asajj offered her the tiniest quirk of her lips. “I’m Ahsoka Tano. Thank you for helping me.”

“Asajj Ventress. You’re welcome.” Ahsoka was studying her with open amazement. “Aren’t you supposed to be making tea?”

That nose crinkle was back. “Yes.”

“You don’t like tea either?”

Ahsoka shook her head firmly. Her stubby head-tails shivered with the motion. “I do not, no matter what different kinds Master Obi-Wan tries to feed me.” She turned to the counter and began to fiddle with the tea things, and Asajj joined her. Ahsoka pushed some plain pottery cups across the counter. “Here, put these cups with those saucers.”

Asajj did as she was told. “Obi-Wan is your training Master?”

“Mm … not yet,” admitted Ahsoka. “He will be, though. He’s announced his intention, but I’m not really old enough to be a Padawan yet.” She bent her head and whispered conspiratorially, “I think he might ask me on my eleventh birthday. Only thirteen more months!” Not knowing the proper answer, Asajj just gave her an encouraging nod. “I’ve never seen you before, here or back on Coruscant, but I can sense you’re a Jedi, and you’re too old to be an Initiate, so who’s your Master?”

There was something so innocent, so sweet, about this girl that Asajj did not have the heart to say something biting about minding her own business. “My teacher was killed,” she said softly.

Ahsoka gasped, horror filling her eyes. “Oh, Asajj, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Her little orange hand came up and rubbed Asajj’s shoulder soothingly, and Asajj did her best not to flinch at the contact. The girl was young and impulsive, and in the Force she exuded genuine sympathy and sadness. “Did Master Dooku take you as his apprentice, then?”

Asajj paused before admitting, “For a while. To see if it will work.”

Ahsoka grinned. “Good. Master Dooku seems really grouchy most of the time, but he’s really pretty nice.” She paused. “Except when he’s actually grouchy.”

“Duly noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Super duper thank yous to all my readers and reviewers, and extra cookies to my betas myurbandream and sanerontheinside for their excellent questions and flailing! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku shouts in public.

“Don’t say a word, Qui-Gon Jinn,” Dooku growled as he stalked over to the chair and threw himself onto the seat. His charge had escaped into the kitchen at the earliest opportunity, which was disheartening. He ignored his concern for her and glared at his former apprentice instead.

Qui-Gon put up his hands in mock-surrender. "Did I say anything?"

"I know you're not going to shut up about this for at least a month," Dooku retorted.

“I suppose this means you didn’t find Komari,” Qui-Gon said quietly, keeping his voice from carrying into the kitchen.

“No, I didn’t.” Dooku rubbed his face with his hands and blew out a tired, frustrated breath. “Ky did send me the transmission. And the transmission did come from Rattatak. And there was an apprentice waiting for me… _his_ apprentice. His newly orphaned apprentice.”

“I thought Master Narec was on the KIA list,” Obi-Wan interjected with a frown.

“Only because he was on the MIA list for so long,” Dooku corrected. “Which I will have to talk to certain parties about at a later date. All I could get out of her is that he was killed.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And that she hunted down and executed his murderers.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened in shock, but Obi-Wan merely nodded thoughtfully. “Standard practice for a lawless Outer Rim dustball. The locals probably love her.”

Dooku bit back a groan, and instead glared at his former apprentice, whose grave look of concern was beginning to irritate him. He was sure not all of that concern was for the girl, which chafed at him even more. “The locals are a simmering soup of mercenaries and slavers. I couldn’t just leave her there. She’s Force-sensitive enough to be a Jedi and she has a smattering of training. The girl’s primed for either a swift, hard Fall to the dark side or a long, drawn-out life of exploitation and violence.”

Qui-Gon said nothing until he gingerly eased himself down on the couch. His scar was clearly bothering him today. “I’m certainly not arguing against bringing her here, Dooku,” he said, his voice soft. “But I’m quite certain I’ve heard you say no more Padawans for the past fifteen years. Loudly. Publicly. Are you certain about this?”

Before Dooku could reply with something acerbic to cover his unease, Ahsoka and Asajj emerged from the kitchen together. The Togrutan held the tea tray, while Asajj simply looked uncomfortable and nervous. He knew how she felt.

No more Padawans. Qui-Gon was right; he had sworn off taking another apprentice in front of the High Council after Komari. What was he playing at, taking another apprentice? This girl, this Asajj Ventress, needed someone stable and patient and _good._ He was not any of those things. Dooku was sharp and harsh and impatient. He did not pretend otherwise, to himself or to others. Her eyes found his, and in their bright blue depths he could see the despair and rage she held in her heart for the entire universe.

He was not the one to soothe that hurt. He could not be. He did not know how.

“I will run those errands now, Padawan Ventress. I shall return as soon as possible.” He rose from his seat, straightening his coat sleeves and avoiding looking at her face. She took a step towards him, and he added in a tone he hoped sounded reassuring, “I will return.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ahsoka take the girl’s hand and gently tug her towards the coffee table. Without another word, he escaped into the hall and groaned through his clenched teeth. This was never going to work, and he despaired of giving the girl hope where there was none with him.

*

Somehow, the rumour mill caught up to him in less than an hour as Jocasta accosted him on his way to the quartermaster. Yoda must have gleaned the news from the transport logs, and Dooku would have to privately berate his former teacher for sticking his nose in where it did not belong. The little green troll was the worst gossip in the entire Order.

“You said you’d never take another,” Jocasta said by way of greeting. There was no accusation in her tone, only gentle concern. Everyone's concern was grating on his nerves.

“I did say that.” To avoid seeing her face, his eyes were fixed on a datapad, where he had a checklist of things Asajj would need. A billet in the junior Padawans’ wing, a few sets of proper clothing and robes, personal hygiene items—damn, he might have to send her for that herself; choosing a flavour of toothpaste was perhaps a smidge too personal for someone who was a virtual stranger. An appointment with Professor Huyang was out of the question. Their three month trial would be eaten away by a trip to Ilum on the _Crucible_. A shame, frankly; it had been a long time since he had had the opportunity to debate the finer points of Makashi with the ancient droid. A stint in the senior Padawan’s construction lab would have to do.

A tiny voice in his head whispered that maybe she would stay and earn her kyber crystal while he waited in that dreadful parka and froze his eyelashes together. Maybe her crystal would be the same pale violet that Ky had used.

Maybe her crystal would be blue like his.

He pushed the voice away. Thinking like that would only lead to trouble.

“And Ky?”

Dooku tore his eyes from the datapad and softened his scowl. He made his voice soft and grave. “I’m sorry, Jo.”

The Librarian’s face crumpled. She sniffled and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and Dooku looked away politely as she dabbed her eyes and nose. An entire class of the crèche had been whittled down to the two of them. “You’ll need a set of textbooks then,” she said, her voice thick but unwavering. Practicality had always been Jocasta Nu's weapon of choice. “I’ll have them sent to your quarters.”

“She’s not staying with me,” he replied stiffly. Jocasta levelled a sharp gaze at him and waited. He glared at her. “Not a door I want to open.”

Her eyes held so much sadness and compassion that he turned away to avoid seeing it. “That wasn’t the reason she fell in love with you, Dooku.”

“Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. _But that doesn’t mean I’m taking the chance._

She rested her hand upon his shoulder and offered a comforting squeeze. He allowed it for only a moment before stepping away. “Let me know her room assignment and I’ll have the books sent to the computer terminal.”

“Thank you, Jocasta,” replied Dooku gratefully.

“Thank me by bringing the wine this week. Nothing too dry. I have the newest transmission from the Alderaan Opera House waiting for us.”

*

Trouble found him before he even made it out of the quartermaster’s office, which might have been a record. Dooku stepped out of the office after confirming the room assignment with the delivery of Asajj's material necessities on his datapad, and the sound of a familiar voice calling his name over the busy corridor junction caught his attention.

Mace Windu, Head of the Jedi Order, held up his hand in greeting, but his impassive face held no mirth. Not a social call, then. Perhaps the rumour mill stopped at the Korun Master.

Over his shoulder, Dooku nodded tightly at Quartermaster Bridger. "Thank you, Dexan."

The rotund master waved him off. "No thanks necessary. If there are any problems, just let me know."

From the look on Mace's approaching face, Dooku was about to have problems that no quartermaster could ever solve. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“The transport captain submitted a bill for a second passenger,” Mace said, skipping the pleasantries and setting Dooku’s teeth on edge. The man may be the Head of the Order, but could he not even muster up some basic courtesy? Master T’ra Saa had impeccable manners, but apparently had not passed them along to her apprentice. “Who did you bring with you?”

“Ky Narec found a Force-sensitive child and made her his apprentice before getting killed on that backwater,” Dooku snapped. Mace’s eyebrow quirked up, and it gave Dooku a tiny bit of satisfaction that he had not been privy to the rumour mill.

“What’s her name?” Mace asked with narrowed eyes. He sounded suspicious.

“Asajj Ventress. I haven’t asked, but I suspect she may be from one of the clans of Dathomir. She was likely sold into slavery as a young child.”

Mace suddenly looked stricken; it was the combination of shock and surliness that he used to have before the Expulsion, when elements from his Force vision came into play with disturbing frequency. Dooku hated that look. It meant that someone was about to be trampled by a roughshod Korun Master. The bald man took a step into Dooku’s personal space and hissed, “No. Not under any circumstances will you teach Asajj Ventress.”

Dooku pulled himself to his full height in a motion that had, in the past, made his opponents quail. He had had quite enough of this vision foolishness, and the implication that he was unsuitable to teach an orphaned apprentice kindled rage in his breast. He took a single heartbeat to release the edge of that anger into the Force, but kept the rest as fuel. “Master Windu, as Head of the Order, you alone do not have the authority to assign or dissolve an apprenticeship. I do not know, nor do I care to know, what you believe about Padawan Ventress or her future path. Ky Narec, our departed brother in the Force, took her as his Padawan and left her orphaned on a world that holds only violence and suffering. I have extended an offer to continue her training and she has consented, as both tradition and Order law require. I will do so again in front of the High Council if it is asked of me.”

Mace opened his mouth to argue, but Dooku shot him his very best glower and leaned in. The anger rippling through his body was cold. It sharpened his tongue like the finest file. “So hear me, Master Windu, and hear me well, for I shall say this only once. Whatever is rolling around in your head at the moment regarding my new Padawan will stay there. You will not speak ill of her to anyone. You will not turn opinion against her. You will not intimate or hint or even look at her with suspicion. If you even mention that vision of yours in regards to her to anyone, I will file a formal protest with the Council of First Knowledge. They will know how you engaged in a smear campaign against a vulnerable, newly-orphaned apprentice. A girl who has had a difficult, troubled life, much like your own apprentice, and who one of our own Masters believed worthy of our teachings. I brought Padawan Ventress here to become a Jedi. I will not allow your notions of an alternative future mar her opportunities here. Is that clear?” The last word ended with what some might call a shout. Dooku offered him a tight, mirthless smile that would have terrified younglings, possibly even senior Padawans, and made new Knights drop their eyes. The girl needed protecting, and by the Force, he would protect her, even against the likes of Mace Windu.

Mace’s eye twitched. Anger swirled around the Korun until he took a noisy breath through his nose and managed to channel his emotions into the Force. His entire expression was flat. “Perfectly clear.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I must get Padawan Ventress settled into her new quarters,” Dooku said with a polite nod. He turned on his heel to find the entire corridor silently staring at them with a mixture of horror, gleeful curiosity, and deep entertainment. The sea of brown and tan parted before him as he made his way to the hall that would bring him back to Asajj. The path closed up behind him as Jedi put their astonished heads together and whispered enthusiastically. He ignored them and kept walking.

_Little gods_. He had actually threatened the Head of the Order in the middle of a busy hallway. He had yelled. He had pushed back against Mace “I Had a Vision” Windu. Mace had _capitulated_.

Despite his best efforts, Master Dooku had adopted a Padawan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper thanks to myurbandream and sanerontheinside for their awesome beta work! You guys rock!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj first day in the Temple is interesting, to say the least.

The old man had been gone just over an hour when he waltzed back in, looking exactly as he had when he left. No, there was something around his eyes. A slight widening that spoke of—bewilderment? Surprise? Asajj studied him over the rim of her tea cup, which held stone-cold tea. She had managed to make it through the hour without ducking into the 'fresher and staying there. Ahsoka had left half-way through, citing a need to join her peers for an activity; Obi-Wan had fetched a plate of various nibbles and left them on the table directly in front of Asajj, where they remained untouched. She had not intended to be rude. The effort to sit with strangers and be polite and remember the manners Ky had hastily instilled in her was exhausting, and to the Jedi's credit, neither of them asked her personal questions. Qui-Gon had told her about the gardens on Eedit, and did she like the heat, and had she ever seen bees before? Obi-Wan had asked her about the trip on the transport, which led to a brief discussion about lightsaber forms.

"Ahsoka is learning jar'kai, which perhaps might interest you?" he was saying just as the door closed behind Dooku. "Ah, grand-Master, you've returned unscathed."

"Possibly accurate," Dooku muttered. He turned his sharp gaze upon Asajj, who hastily set her cup on the table. "My apologies, Padawan. I hope they didn't inundate you with mindless prattle."

Obi-Wan smothered a smile, while Qui-Gon looked indignant. Asajj shook her head quickly. "No," she said.

"Come along, then. I'll show you to your quarters."

He waited as she unfolded herself from the chair and hurried towards him, but she stopped at his raised eyebrow. She hesitated, thinking of all the things that eyebrow could mean, until a spark of memory lit in her brain. She turned and offered a stiff nod of her bald head. "Thank you. For the tea."

Qui-Gon's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "It was my pleasure, sister-Padawan, but I promise for our next meeting I will provide your preferred beverage. Caff?" he guessed.

She nodded, more gratefully than she had intended, but the surprise that he had noticed her distaste threw her out of sorts. Being noticed usually led to violence.

"Our door is always open," Obi-Wan added. The gentle invitation, open and guileless, in his eyes was too much; she jerked her head in a nod and fled the room.

Dooku's long legs only needed a few steps to catch up with her. "I fear more apologies are in order," he said as they walked. "I often find their kindness to be overwhelming, especially when they do not realize it."

She peered up at him with a frown. "They actually mean it."

"They do. I'm certain Qui-Gon is thrilled at the prospect of having a sister-Padawan again, and he's sure to be a bit of a mother hen until he settles down. Feel free to tell him to stop if required, but I caution you against physical harm."

One word niggled at her, and her mouth moved before she could stop it. "Again?"

His face hardened, and she fought the urge to cringe at the coming anger. It did not come. His voice was carefully neutral. "I suppose I should tell you before someone else does. I had an apprentice, a few years after I Knighted Qui-Gon. She did not become a Jedi Knight."

The silence between them was heavy as both of them turned to their own thoughts. Asajj tried to parse what he had said. He had trained another girl, a beloved sister-Padawan to Qui-Gon, who what? Died? She doubted he would have minced words over a death. The fact that he was not using his usual bluntness suggested—sadness? Shame? Disappointment? Something had happened to this girl to expel her from the Order, but not death, and Dooku did not want to talk about it.

Now she had a mystery to solve. She needed every scrap of information if she was to figure him out, to get as much training and skill from him as possible. Maybe, if she played her cards right, she could wheedle it out of her new brother-Padawan.

Deep in thought, she almost walked into Dooku's back when he stopped in front of another door, identical to every other door in this place. He pressed the button on the doorplate and motioned for her to enter. The room was bathed in the orange light of the coming sunset. The entire back wall was a window that looked out into a grove of tended trees. The other walls held two bunk beds apiece, each with a thin mattress rolled up and a pillow sitting on the bare slats. The bed closest to the window had a crate resting on the floor at the head. The room was otherwise sterile and entirely empty. Dooku glanced down at her and ran a hand over his goatee. "The other Padawan quarters are full, so the quartermaster opened up this room for you."

"I'm alone?" she murmured, pleased to not have to give up her personal privacy for want of a bed.

"If you wish it otherwise, I can try to make other arrangements," Dooku said hastily. "I must say, as an apprentice, I would have killed to have a room to myself. The horrors of snoring and restless shifting and sniffling haunt me to this day."

A heartbeat passed before she realized he was making another joke. This time, she offered him a weak smile. "What's in the box?"

Jumping at the opportunity to change the subject, he strode to the crate and lifted the lid. "Clothing. I guessed at your size, but Jedi robes only come in two sizes—too big and too small."

"You don't wear robes," she pointed out.

"No, I don't, unless I am forced to stand on formality, and even then I'll put up a fight." He watched her as she pulled out a bundle of fabric, elaborately folded to prevent creases. "In this environment, I don't know how anyone can stand to wear wool."

"The heat is nice," she replied as she dug through the next layer of the crate.

He grunted in disagreement. "For you, perhaps. I feel as though I'm constantly on the cusp of melting."

The crate held an assortment of other things, including a toothbrush, bed linens, a towel and facecloth, two tubes of toothpaste in different flavours—was her breath that bad?—and a roughly spun blanket. "Uh," she started, and he interrupted her.

"If there are things missing that you require, you only need to request them from the quartermaster." He pulled a datapad from a slot on the crate lid and showed it to her. "Just make a note here, press send, and a droid will deliver the items within twelve hours."

She nodded and took the datapad from him, then balanced it on the pillow. "I, er, don't suppose there's a latemeal?" she asked.

"Of course."

When he did not say anything further, Asajj glanced at his face. He slowly quirked his eyebrow. Reminding her of something— "Could you take me to latemeal, please?" she asked carefully, and was rewarded with a small smile. She wondered what his sharp face would look like if he actually grinned. It might be terrifying.

"Of course, Padawan. You have only to ask."

*

The refectory was at its peak capacity, filled with Jedi in various shades of brown and cream robes. Asajj tried not to stare, but almost every species in the room was unfamiliar to her; she knew her gaze lingered too long and her steps slowed too much to feign indifference. Dooku ignored them all save for a few who earned sharp nods. His attention seemed to be saved for her. Gracefully and politely, he took two trays from a stack and offered her one. She followed his silent lead, watching him turn his skeptical eyeballs on the foods in warming trays. Of all the things on offer, she only recognized a handful of items, and she stared at them hard, wondering if she should just pick some at random. Sensing her hesitation, Dooku bent his head towards her. "The foods marked with a green square—" he subtly poked a finger at a symbol enamelled on the bottom corner of the warming tray "—are considered suitable for the majority of humanoid-based species. Red circles are for species who require raw meat, and yellow triangles are, well, you are not an insect species and the less said on that matter, the better."

She nodded, relieved that she had not needed to ask. The safest route would be to simply recreate the old man's plate, then do a little research of her own. Maybe she could ask Ahsoka. Dooku passed his tray to the serving droid on the other side of the warming trays and murmured a few words, then watched Asajj out of the corner of his eye as she did the same. "Whatever he's having," she told the droid.

They exited the serving line together, only to find themselves in a room with no empty tables. Dooku surveyed the room, but Asajj could feel that the room was staring back at  _ them _ . Swift, sidelong looks mixed with a ripple of surprised murmurs, enforced further with the chiming of outright, surprised curiosity in the Force, assaulted Asajj's sense of well-being. She fought the urge to shift uncomfortably. To her surprise, Dooku spoke out of the side of his mouth. "Ignore them, Padawan. Their rudeness is not worth your discomfort," he said with a hint of annoyance that was not directed at her.

"They're staring at us," she replied, trying desperately to find a pair of open seats without standing on her tiptoes.

"You have two options, then. You can either let them ruin your composure, or you can ignore them completely and enjoy your meal."

"Or I could glare at them until I make them extremely uncomfortable," she retorted. "I once stared down a gang of pirates."

He finally tilted his head to look at her. "And how did that end?" he rumbled dryly.

"Once I took out my lightsaber, it ended quite well." She could not help the vicious smile that the memory evoked. That day had let two children escape slavery.

"Indeed." He quirked an eyebrow, not quite the same as the questioning eyebrow. She was not entirely sure what this one meant. He might be very slightly amused, or possibly horrified. No, not horrified. The left corner of his mouth twitched, neither up in a smile nor down in a frown. "There's a spot over in the corner."

He strode towards the now-empty table, leaving her to follow and make a choice: did she follow her own advice, or do as he did? In the end, standing awkwardly in the middle of the refectory, she chose to glare at an older humanoid Padawan until he dropped his rude gaze. She then ignored the rest of them and joined Dooku.

She slid into the seat across from him. Only once she picked up her fork and speared a piece of yellowish cubed … something … did he do the same. The curiosity running through the Force was distracting enough that she could not concentrate on eating. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and Dooku noticed. "You have a question for me, Padawan?"

Stirring the contents of her plate absently, she shrugged. "I guess I understand why they're staring at me."

"But not at me?" he prompted. Asajj carefully noted that he seemed more relaxed while eating. She half-expected him to wait to speak until she asked him a proper question.

"Yes."

"I am a High Councilor, which often brings a bit of awe from the younger ones," he admitted, "but I must warn you that the Jedi are terrible gossipmongers. I suspect it comes from being a rather insular community, despite our role in the galaxy, but word spreads faster than lightspeed about … unusual occurrences."

"And I'm unusual," she said sullenly. Her stomach rippled inside her, demanding a sacrifice, so she put the yellow cube in her mouth and chewed. It was bland and crunchy, but not inedible.

"Yes," he replied bluntly. "But in this case, it is far more unusual that you are being seen in  _ my _ company. I have not had an apprentice for a long time."

"Since your girl apprentice," Asajj guessed, and immediately regretted the flash of sadness in his eyes.

To her surprise, however, he answered. "Her name was Komari."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

 

*

The empty dorm room had no charm other than the window. Night had fallen, however, and she could not see further than the tree closest to the transparisteel. Asajj paced, too restless to lie down and sleep and not informed enough to go wandering through the Temple. She had laid the clothing out on the bed across from her and wrinkled her nose at the many layers and folds. Getting dressed should not be so complicated, and she would be damned before she put on anything so fussy. Dooku was not a stickler for Jedi garb, so maybe he would not expect it of her?

He would not have given her the robes in the first place.

With a frustrated growl, she flung herself on her own bunk. A quiet, rapid knock on her door interrupted her pouting, and she opened the door to find Ahsoka smiling at her. "Can I come in?" she whispered.

Asajj backed away from the door to let her enter. "Why do I get the feeling you're not supposed to be here?" Asajj asked as she returned to sit on the bunk.

"Because I'm not," admitted Ahsoka cheerfully. "Initiate curfew started five minutes ago."

"Then why aren't you safe and sound in your bed?"

"Because I wanted to see if you needed anything." The girl pointed at the space next to Asajj, and Asajj nodded. Ahsoka sat on the bunk and pulled a crinkly package of something from beneath her grey tunic. "And I smuggled these out of the refectory."

"What are they?" Asajj asked curiously as she took the gift.

"Ginger biscuits." Ahsoka pointed at the crease. "Pull it apart there, but be gentle or you'll break them all."

As Asajj struggled with the package, Ahsoka scanned the bare room until her eyes lit upon the requisition datapad. "Did you get everything from the quartermaster?"

"I guess?" Her fingers tore at the crease, and a pleasant, spicy scent wafted from the package.

Ahsoka was eyeballing the few toiletries at the bottom of the crate with a frown. "They didn't send you soap? Or cleaner for your boots and belt?"

Around a mouthful of delightfully sweet biscuit, Asajj said, "I guess not."

Rolling her eyes, Ahsoka picked up the datapad. "You'll have to order it. Sometimes it takes a while. If you're desperate, I'll lend you some soap."

An opportunity had opened, one that Asajj had not even thought about, and she held out the package for Ahsoka to pluck out a round, brown biscuit. "Would you show me how the requisition works?"

"Of course!" The Togrutan flopped down on the bunk and tapped her fingers over the interface. "Okay. Soap, leather cleaner, uh, lightsaber toolkit?"

Asajj shrugged with one shoulder. "I don't have a lightsaber."

"You'll need one either way," replied Ahsoka, pressing the oddly-shaped text marks with her thumb. Asajj’s eyes slid right over the unfamiliar text. Ahsoka narrowed her eyes at the clothing strewn across the other bunk. "Did Master Dooku forget to get you socks?"

"I only got one pair."

"Socks it is. There's a whole system to the socks. There's a liner sock, and then an outer sock, and you gotta wear them together to keep your feet dry. Especially if the boots are new or you're doing lots of physical work. Master Gallia says a Jedi can't be helpful if their feet aren't cared for," Ahsoka told her.

Asajj snorted. "I'll keep that in mind."

"I don't know anything about your species," Ahsoka said slowly, "but do you need menstrual products? 'Cause you can order those, too."

"Yeah," Asajj said. "Thanks. I guess I can’t trust Dooku to remember that kind of thing."

It was Ahsoka's turn to snort as she tapped her fingers a few more times on the datapad. "There! See? You just check off what you need, and you press this button here with your thumb."

Asajj put her thumb on the datapad, and it chimed softly. "That's it?"

"Uh-huh." They ate a few more biscuits in slightly awkward but companionable silence before Ahsoka said quietly, "I'm glad you're here, Asajj."

"Why?" The waspish retort was automatic, and Asajj immediately regretted it; the girl flinched. "Sorry. I-I'm not used to, you know." She waved her hand expansively, signifying everything and nothing at the same time.

"I'm glad to have a new friend," Ahsoka said, her voice becoming more resolute with every word.

The word hung in the air, and Asajj stuffed her mouth with a biscuit to give herself more time. The girl was kind and generous, and broke the rules and wore her proper uniform at the same time. She reminded Asajj of Ky, and at that thought, the Force seemed a little brighter to her. "I've only ever had one friend before," Asajj admitted softly. When Ahsoka glanced at her with her wide blue eyes, she added, "My teacher. Ky."

"Then I'm glad to be your second friend, Asajj."

"He called me Asa," she whispered, staring at the floor with her heart in her throat. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder blade, and she peeked at Ahsoka through her eyelashes. "You can, too."

The girl's smile was bright. "I should get back before the monitors do a bed check. I'll come back before breakfast and help you with those, okay?" Jabbing her thumb at the uniform, Ahsoka stood.

"Okay," Asajj said, trying to sound less disgustingly grateful than she felt.

"Good night, Asa," Ahsoka said.

"Good night, Ahsoka."

Once the girl had gone, Asajj brushed the biscuit crumbs from her thighs and carefully wrapped the package back up for later. They did not have biscuits on Rattatak.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper special thanks to myurbandream and sanerontheinside for their lovely beta work! *blows kisses*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku's morning is off to a smashing start.

His communicator chimed the alarm, set to wake him just before dawn despite no scheduled Council meetings today. Groaning, Dooku forced himself to fling back the light sheet. His knees and hips and spine offered their usual chorus of pops and creaks as he rose from his bed and headed for the 'fresher to perform his morning ablutions. Sleep had not come easily last night. Awake and staring at the ceiling, he had spent the majority of the night considering Asajj, which of course had led him to brood over Komari in darkening spirals. As he brushed his teeth, he came to the firm decision to focus all his attention on his new apprentice.

His bloodthirsty, angry, fierce,  _ scrawny _ new apprentice.

Firstmeal was necessary. Normally he would skip it, or simply have a cup of tea, but the girl was so malnourished that he wanted to show the healers that he was, in fact, not the one responsible for her neglect. She would probably sit longer in the refectory, and therefore actually consume all the food in front of her, if he kept her attention off everyone else in the room. So he would sit in the common area and let the odours of firstmeal nauseate him to ensure she ate. He reached for his half-cape before heading out the door and paused. Perhaps a less formal look would help? Set her at ease?

No, breaking her expectations might distract her. He settled the fabric over his shoulders like armour with precise fingers and walked out of his quarters. Halfway to the Padawan's quarters, his comm chimed. "Dooku here."

"Good morning, my master," came Qui-Gon's tinny voice. Concern instantly rippled over Dooku as he caught the tight, strained quality of his former apprentice's voice. "I know it's your morning off, but I don't suppose you'd come take tea with me?"

It was a bad pain day. "Where's that husband of yours?" Dooku asked, keeping his voice snappish. It was a game they played on days like these, meant to keep Qui-Gon from feeling desperate and needy and to keep Dooku from mothering his apprentice.

"Emergency messenger duty," replied Qui-Gon with a sigh. "Left last night with barely time to put his boots on. He'll be back tomorrow."

"I'll bring Padawan Ventress with me," declared Dooku. "And breakfast."

"I don't want to eat anything."

"It's for her. You're capable of getting your own meal, and I'm not a service droid."

A pained chuckle answered him. "I look forward to seeing my sister-Padawan again. Qui-Gon out."

Dooku pocketed his comm as he approached the Padawan quarters and pressed the door chime. "A moment," called Asajj from inside the room.

He took a step back and waited patiently for the door to slide open. To his pleasant surprise, the girl was wearing the Padawan robes acquired for her, and to his further shock, they were properly donned and perfectly adjusted. In a group of her peers, the only thing that would set her apart would be the awkward way she held herself. An unexpected wave of pride washed over him, and he quirked his lips into a tiny smile. "Padawan Ventress, you certainly look the part," he said.

"It itches," she grumbled.

"It does," he agreed. Before he could ask her to firstmeal, his comm chimed again. "Dooku."

"Master Dooku, there is an emergency Council meeting in fifteen minutes." Mace Windu's secretary was brisk and business-like.

He suppressed a sigh. "Understood. Dooku out."

Asajj was watching him carefully, waiting for instructions. "Unfortunately, Padawan, I cannot break my fast with you this morning."

"I'm not hungry," she said automatically, but her stomach growled anyway. Dooku ignored the embarrassed look on her face.

"I will not accept that as an answer to my being called away during a meal," he warned her sternly. She was too used to long periods without food, and that had to be nipped in the bud immediately. "We will fetch you a meal from the refectory, and then I have a special request to make of you."

She squinted warily at him. "What?"

"I would ask you to sit with Qui-Gon this morning while I am in my meeting. It is not the ideal way I would have spent your first morning here, but sometimes we must do what is required of us, not what we wish to do." She was still, and he added, a bit hesitantly, "If it would not make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, she seemed to consider his words, then finally nodded. "I'll go. His presence is … soothing."

"Spoken by someone who's never dealt with him in an official capacity," retorted Dooku wryly. "Come along, Padawan."

They fetched a boxed meal from the refectory, where most of the eyes slid over just another Padawan wearing standard togs. The attention was reserved for Dooku in the form of newly-minted Councilor Shaak Ti. The Togrutan waved him down with one hand as her other clutched a mug of strong caff. "Good morning, Master Dooku. I suppose you got the message, too?" she asked, joining him.

"I did, Master Ti. Any word on the topic of conversation?"

"No, but I would bet money that it's another envoy from the Confederation."

"A poor wager to take," he allowed. Next to him, Asajj was silent but kept flicking her eyes at Shaak Ti. "Have you met my new apprentice, Master Ti?"

Asajj jerked in surprise, but covered it well. Shaak Ti, ever gracious, glided in front of Asajj and stopped. With a bow and a smile, Shaak Ti held out her hands. "It is a great pleasure to meet you."

"Asajj Ventress," the girl said quietly. Her blue eyes were round with something that Dooku could not quite place—not fear, but awe? Admiration? He cleared his throat softly, and she bent into a quick bow. "Master Ti."

"Well, I promise we will not keep your master from you too long," Shaak Ti said with a chiming laugh.

A prickle of anger spiked in the Force around Asajj, which caused the Togrutan to step back in surprise. A gamut of emotion flickered over Asajj's face before she smoothed her features into a blank mask. "I will meet you in the Council chamber, Master Ti," Dooku said. The Togrutan inclined her head and disappeared down the corridor, then he took a deep breath before facing his apprentice. "You cannot become defensive every time someone refers to me as your master."

"I am not a slave," she hissed, refusing to look at him. Instead, she glared firmly at the Jedi walking past them towards the refectory.

"No, you are not a slave. You are a Jedi Padawan, and I expect you to act with a minimum of decorum," he retorted. Her defiance and rudeness was like a burr against his skin, and his lack of sleep had eroded his own reserve of patience. "Unless you wish me to announce to the entire Temple that you would like to be treated differently?"

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze, and her glare was impressive. "No."

"I have already made allowances for you, Padawan, but you cannot expect the same from others."

She clutched her boxed meal to her chest and glared at him. "I cannot expect anything from anyone but myself," she retorted. "I know the way to Qui-Gon's quarters. You do not need to accompany me."

Irritated, he nodded. "Very well. Stay there until I fetch you."

"Yes,  _ Master _ ," she muttered under her breath, then darted away into a crowd of Jedi before he could reply.

_ Sweet buggering fuck _ . He could already feel a headache coming on.

*

Not taking Shaak Ti's bet had been the right thing to do. A messenger from the Confederation of Independent Systems, a young woman wearing a somber yet exquisitely cut set of travelling robes, stood in the middle of the largest conference room in the Eedit Temple, converted for use as the High Council chamber. A niggling thought in the back of his mind suggested that he had seen the girl before, but he could not place either name or association. Mace and Yoda both had the slight relaxation that suggested they recognized her.

"To Eedit, the Jedi welcome you, messenger Dormé," Yoda intoned.

The woman bowed politely. "Thank you, Grand Master Yoda. I bring greetings from both the Confederation as well as the personal well-wishes of my mistress, Representative Amidala of Naboo."

Mentally, Dooku snapped his fingers. Of course. The girl was one of Senator—former Senator—Padmé Amidala's handmaidens. Had Qui-Gon been occupying his seat, he was sure that his old Padawan would have been all friendly smiles.

"What brings you here in person, when a transmission is easily sent?" asked Mace bluntly. While Dooku could admire getting to the point, the tone set his teeth on edge. Perhaps he could convince Master Saa that her former apprentice could use a reminder that manners existed, and that he should  _ use them _ .

"The Representative Committee believes that the Galactic Senate is intercepting our transmissions, Master Windu," Dormé replied, her voice grave.

Dooku leaned forward. "For what purpose?"

"Espionage."

"Well, that didn't take long," muttered Depa Billaba.

"I rather thought that spies would crop up much sooner," retorted Dooku darkly. "What information is the Senate trying to uncover?"

Dormé spread her hands slightly. "Everything, Master Dooku, but most recently, they have been attempting to uncover plans for new hyperlane mapping technology that was proposed last week on Sern Prime."

"I sense that is not the reason for your visit," Ki-Adi-Mundi said.

"No, Masters Jedi, not specifically. I have come because the Representative Committee ask that the Jedi Order supply a cadre of diplomats to serve the Confederation in our negotiations with the Republic over hyperspace lane access."

"Expelled the Jedi, the Republic has," grumbled Yoda. "Allowed to return, we are not."

"The Committee understands this, Master Yoda," Dormé allowed, "but we are in need of the galaxy's best negotiators. Without hyperspace lanes, Confederation worlds will be isolated from necessary trade and the ability to move freely within allied territories. This hasn't been made public, but there are already worlds that are suffering shortages of food and medical supplies due to Republic Star Destroyers patrolling hyper-points and refusing to allow Confederate ships to pass into the next leg of the space lane."

Shaak Ti looked outraged. "They're setting up blockades?"

"No, Master Ti, because the refusal of access is intermittent. They do not have the ships to block every hyper-point. Some of our ships do pass through, but not on a regular schedule. About half of our transports reach their destinations."

"Why does this just scream 'Trade Federation?'" Even Piell was grimacing in his seat.

"We have intelligence that the Trade Federation suggested it, Master Piell," replied Dormé with an incline of her head, "but the Senate voted for the use of the Star Destroyers."

"How many Jedi are you asking for?" Mace inquired, a datapad already in his hand to take notes.

"How many do you have available?" Dormé said with a weak smile. "All joking aside, Masters, the Confederation must staff an official ambassadorial office on Coruscant."

"You must realize what it would look like to staff your embassy in the Republic with Jedi Masters," Mace countered. "We are banned from stepping a single toe in Republic space. Any Jedi found in their borders is subject to immediate arrest and incarceration. We don't even have a mechanism to negotiate the return of any such prisoners because the Senate won't communicate with us by any means. We are anathema, Handmaiden Dormé."

Dormé's lips curled almost imperceptibly. "Ambassadors from non-Republic worlds have total diplomatic immunity, Master Windu. It's written in the Galactic Constitution."

"A dangerous gamble," Yoda announced, his ears held stiffly against his skull.

"We will consider your request," Mace added. "How long until the Committee requires a response?"

"As soon as possible, if you please," replied Dormé. "We wish to submit the list of ambassadorial staff to the Republic by the end of the week."

"We will alert you when we've made a decision," Mace told her, his attention already split as he jotted notes on his datapad.

Dooku tried not to grit his teeth. "Please allow us to offer our hospitality within the Temple," he said in his most charming voice. "When you leave the chamber, the Council secretary can escort you to our guest quarters. Should you require anything, including another Council audience, please let the secretary know."

"Thank you, Master Dooku," Dormé said with a grateful smile; with her teeth showing, Dooku could see the uncanny resemblance to Amidala that a good bodyguard would need. "I appreciate the Order's kindness."

As soon as the doors closed behind the messenger, the chamber exploded into voices all chiming in at the same time. Yoda rapped his stick on the floor an instant later, which quieted the other Councilors immediately. "Too dangerous, this is," he announced. "Send Jedi back into Republic space, I will not."

The room was filled with surprised looks, covered with varying success. Plo Koon, by advantage of his mask, seemed less shocked than anyone. "This could be the perfect opportunity to work for re-acceptance of the Jedi within the Republic," the Kel Dor said placidly.

"Or for getting an entire embassy of Jedi incarcerated, or even disappeared." Piell crossed his arms over his chest with a sour look pulling at the scar across his face. "It's a risk."

"A risk we must take if we ever want to clear our name," pointed out Adi Gallia.

Another chorus of voices rose, both positions being argued among neighbours, until Yoda rose from his seat and slowly made his way to the middle of the room. The unusual sight of Yoda out of his place led to silence falling over the chamber, and the green Jedi hunched over his gimer stick. "Allow the Jedi back into the Republic, I will not. Final, my decision is," he said, his voice quiet but hard. Without another word, he hobbled out of the High Council chamber and disappeared into the corridor.

Ki-Adi-Mundi was gaping like a fish. "Did—did he just pull the Grand Master card?"

"He's not the Master of the Order," Piell complained. "He can't stymie debate like that."

Shaak Ti, the youngest and newest of them, cleared her throat awkwardly. "Actually, he can, Master Piell. There is a provision in our governing charter that allows the Grand Master of the Order a complete veto only when the Jedi Order is faced with destructive peril and the Council is deadlocked on a decision."

"I don't remember reading that," grumbled Piell, pulling a datapad from his seat and tapping on it with a vicious finger. "I thought only the Head of the Order had a veto thanks to his election by the Council."

"It's buried quite deeply in a block of legalese," she admitted with an apologetic shrug.

"Master Dooku," Mace said suddenly, his eyes finally lifting from his datapad. "Would you kindly follow Master Yoda and find out what's bothering him so?"

"Gladly," retorted Dooku, sweeping out of the chamber after his former Master. The troll's presence in the Force was weighty and ancient, unlike anyone in the Temple; he followed it to Qui-Gon's quarters, of all places.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, folks. I've been banging out an original novel since April, and that's sucked up absolutely all of my writing time and brain power. But, because I'm on holiday, please enjoy this new chapter! I'll post the next one tomorrow! Thanks to Sanerontheinside for her quick beta work (you rock!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj and Qui-Gon have a heart to heart

Asajj surprised herself by not getting lost in the dust-coloured corridors and finding Qui-Gon's quarters with only a single pause to check the nameplate. Still angry with Dooku, she stabbed her finger against the door chime.

"Come in."

Qui-Gon was laid out on the couch with his arm covering his eyes, but he lifted his elbow to offer her a wan smile when she approached. "Good morning, Padawan Ventress. Where's Dooku?"

Scowling, she hugged her boxed breakfast to her chest. "Emergency meeting. He asked me to come in his stead."

"Then I am pleased to have you to myself," he said. His voice was a weak rumble, and his Force signature seemed strained and jangled. She eyed him in concern, surreptitiously she thought, but he noticed. "I suffered an injury, years ago, that nearly killed me and now refuses to heal properly. It has decided to make itself known today, that's all." He was trying to reassure her, despite his own pain, and she was not certain whether she was comforted or irritated by his attempt.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she blurted. Something to do would help keep her from just standing here. Besides, he looked pathetic.

"You hate tea," he replied with a quirk of his lips.

"I'd still make you some." She tapped her fingers on the box. "You want something to eat?"

He shook his head slightly. "Thank you, but no. The pain meds make me slightly nauseated. If it's not too much trouble, I wouldn't mind if you just keep me company."

Did he want small talk? Did he want her to bare her soul to him in an attempt to befriend her? She watched him as he replaced his elbow over his face. His husband did not seem to be here, and he was alone, and suffering—and he was nice to her with seemingly no desire for something in return. She lay the box of food on the low table and went to the kitchen to fetch two glasses of water. She set one down for him with a gentle clink then sat down to stare at her firstmeal. A rounded glop of something beige and slightly gelatinous, paired with a mixed fruit salad that contained only one familiar fruit, stared back at her.

"Not to your taste?" he asked mildly without lifting his arm.

"I don't even know what it is," she retorted, poking at the beige with her spoon.

"What passes for firstmeal on your planet?"

"There is no firstmeal," she replied darkly. "You eat when you can get it."

He grunted in acknowledgement. She wondered how many times in his life he had been without food. "So why the hesitation?"

She opened her mouth to offer a waspish retort about the texture, but realized he had a point. A week of regular meals had already spoiled her, and shame spread through her. There were starving children on Rattatak, and she was complaining about the freely-offered food. With a baleful glare at him for being right, and more for herself, she shoved her spoon in her mouth. Beige tasted as bland as it looked, but she ate every last speck and licked her spoon. The fruit, she decided, could be saved for a little later. Maybe Qui-Gon would be hungry eventually.

They sat in silence. She held herself a little stiffly, trying not to fidget with the layers of wool and something Ahsoka had called silk making her itchy all over, and watched him. His chest rose and fell with an unnatural, stuttering rhythm of someone trying to breathe around pain, but his Force signature was starting to even out. Maybe his pain medication was starting to kick in.

"I can sense you are dying to ask me something," he said suddenly. "Be aware that I am likely to be particularly truthful at the moment, so ask away."

The opportunity had presented itself, and she tried not to think about the possibility that she was taking advantage of him. "Dooku said he had an apprentice before me. Komari."

The elbow flew away from his face so he could stare at her. "He told you about Komari?" he asked incredulously.

"Just that she was his last Padawan and didn't become a Knight," she replied with a shrug.

"And you want to know what happened."

"I-I don't know him well," Asajj started, "but he seemed reluctant to talk about it. Like … like it made him sad to think about her. She didn't die, did she?"

He sighed quietly. "Whether she's currently roaming the galaxy is unknown, but no, she didn't die before she left us." His face darkened as he corrected himself. "Before she was sent away."

Shifting to the edge of the chair, Asajj propped her elbows on her knees. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Another sigh, this one heavy and full of sadness. "I don't know if it's my place to tell this story, my sister-Padawan."

"If you don't tell me, no one else will. I don't want to be walking around this place with this mystery girl dogging my every move." Manners. Manners and familiarity seemed to work on these people. "Please? Qui-Gon?"

If he was surprised at the use of his name, he did not show it. For a long moment, he was silent. When he spoke, his voice was a quiet rumble. "Dooku took Komari as an apprentice about fifteen years after he Knighted me. He always said that he needed a decade and a half to recover from the ordeals of raising me to Knighthood alive and in one piece."

She snorted with sudden laughter, and he grinned. "He did not mention that."

"If you ever want him to stop talking, just ask him about the time I brought home a stray barghest kit when I was twelve," he said slyly.

"Duly noted." She waited for him to stop chuckling to himself, then prodded, "So he took Komari as his Padawan?"

"She was a bright spot. Stood out from her peers with her lightsaber prowess, which, of course, caught Dooku's attention. Under his tutelage, she became one of our most gifted fighters. I-I regret not being in-Temple much during her apprenticeship. I was a new Knight, destined to gallivant around the galaxy at the behest of the Council. They were an unstoppable team, the two of them. Had I not been a grown man, I would have been extremely jealous of their relationship."

Furrowing her brow, she frowned. "Why?"

"Dooku and I didn't have the smoothest of apprenticeships. We clashed about many things. My attunement to the Living Force baffled him in many ways, and it caused friction in the way we each saw the universe around us." His rumbling voice sounded sad.

"You seem close now," she pointed out.

"We've had a few years to realize how much we mean to each other," he answered. "Clarity sometimes comes when a person nearly dies."

"Or not at all when they do," she whispered, staring at her knees. She missed the look of heartbreak Qui-Gon was giving her, but she could feel it in the Force. For all he had known her for less than a day, he seemed to genuinely care about her. Yesterday it had made her uncomfortable. Today it was odd, but bearable.

"That is true," he said softly. "Would you like me to continue?"

She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve and nodded. "Yes. Please."

"Komari was on track to be a great Jedi Knight, until the Council began to suspect something amiss. They barred her from taking her Trials. That's the test to become a Knight," he added.

"I know that," she snapped.

"But do you know the reasons why the Council might bar a Padawan from their test?" he replied smoothly, ignoring her tone.

"Uh, if they don't think they're ready?" Ky had mentioned this once.

"Correct. In Komari's case, however, that wasn't the reason." A reluctance entered his voice, and she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Then what?"

"She was infatuated with him. The Council thought that it had affected Dooku's evaluation of her skills, and barred her from the Trials. When she didn't deny being in love with him, they stripped her of her position in the Order and sent her away."

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she poked her finger in his direction. "But you're married. How can they send a girl away for being in love with Dooku and you're lying there, married?"

"An excellent question, sister-Padawan. Do you know the Code?"

A little offended, she snorted. "Of course. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force_ ," she recited.

"It's that 'no passion' bit that becomes a problem after a thousand years. Attachment is forbidden, but the understanding of what attachment actually means is…" he paused, wiggling his hand from side to side, "murky, to put it politely."

"And not politely?"

"It's completely fucked up."

"Huh."

"There is a very strong taboo among the Jedi against love. Padawans, in particular, are forbidden from romantic pursuits, namely because young people can't be trusted to not set aside their feelings in the face of duty."

Asajj grimaced. "So you just pair adolescents with a single authority figure who they spend almost all their time with and then punish them for becoming emotionally dependent on them? You're right, that _is_ fucked."

"I don't think anyone has ever said it so succinctly." He shifted, swinging his legs off the couch. As he struggled to sit up, Asajj took pity on him and helped him to sit back against the couch cushions. She passed him the glass of water. "Thank you, Padawan Ventress."

It seemed so odd for him to address her formally, considering their conversation. She did not make eye contact, but she said, "You can call me Asajj."

He raised his glass to her in a salute before draining its contents. "The difference between my situation and Komari's is two-fold. First, Obi-Wan was no longer my apprentice when I fell in love with him."

"Obi-Wan was your apprentice?" He offered a lopsided smile at her accusatory tone.

"He was. Will you stop looking at me like that if I tell you nothing romantic happened between us until four years after his Knighting?"

"Only once I confirm it with him," she retorted tightly, which earned her a snort of laughter. "And the second?"

"I'm known for breaking rules," he admitted. "Breaking a cultural taboo is not quite as dangerous for a High Councilor with a long, career-spanning habit of sidestepping the Code when it suits my purposes. For Komari, however, she was not even Knighted. She had no power, no leverage in the situation."

She grimaced. "But Dooku did."

With a sigh, his gaze turned inward for a moment before he replied with regret, "Yes, he did."

They sat, bodies still, brooding over this revelation in separate silence. Asajj could feel righteous anger bubbling up inside her heart; whatever else this Komari girl had been, Dooku should have stood up for her. He had been the girl's teacher, her confidante, her ally—just as Ky had been for Asajj. She could not imagine Ky not fighting for her. He had fought for her until it killed him. Would Dooku betray her, too, if she made a misstep? Let the Council expel her for violating an illogical rule she did not even know about?

The door chime interrupted her increasingly dark thoughts, and Qui-Gon called for the visitor to enter. A tiny, wizened, green creature hobbled in with the help of a wooden cane as gnarled as he was. His ears twitched as he crossed the threshold, and his eyes snapped to Asajj in her chair. "Dooku's apprentice, I presume?" he said, his odd voice gravelly. His expression darkened. "Your anger, I can feel from here. To the dark side, anger leads, child. Let it control you, you must not."

He poked his stick in her direction, and the anger she felt for Komari bubbled over into disgust. She was on her feet before she even realized it. "I don't know who you are, or who you think you are, but how dare you come in here and accuse me of falling to the dark side before we've even been introduced?" she spat. "I may be from the most backwater planet in the galaxy, but even I know that there's such a thing as _manners_. You are a rude little thing, to say such things to someone you don't even know! How dare you?!"

At her final, shrill syllable, her eyes slid away from the impassive green face to find Dooku standing in the doorway, mouth slightly agape. He slid past the creature, whose mouth was now compressed in a firm line, to stand next to Asajj. "Master Yoda, my apprentice, Asajj Ventress," Dooku said, as though she did not have her hands clenched into fists and her eyes were boring into the creature's skull.

"Hmph." Yoda clenched his claws around his stick, turned around, and left.

 _Yoda_ . Ky had told her about Yoda in the most respectful, hushed tones. The venerable, the wise, the fucking Grand Master of the fucking Jedi Order—and she had just _yelled_ at him. _Angrily_. There were witnesses. Qui-Gon was just staring at her with a carefully blank expression. Dooku—Dooku had sunk into the couch cushions next to Qui-Gon and had his face buried in his hands. His entire body screamed mortification.

This was it. He was going to send her back to Rattatak before the three months were up. There was no way this would end well for her. Maybe he would let her stay one more night in her comfortable bed if she apologized. Hells, perhaps if she got down on her knees and _grovelled_ … "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know—"

Dooku's shoulders were shaking. He lifted his head from his hands, and there were actual tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. The old man was laughing at her! "Padawan, no one has told that old troll off in about six hundred years," he managed to choke out. "The _look_ on his face!"

"Does he greet all the new Padawans like that?" she asked sourly, crossing her arms over her chest. She did not like to be laughed at.

Qui-Gon offered her a kind smile. "Actually? Yes."

"Which doesn't mean your response was appropriate," Dooku chided as he pulled a folded square of fabric from his pocket and wiped his eyes. "Despite it being well and truly deserved."

"I should have lied?"

"You should have kept your temper," corrected Dooku. "Something I imagine we will need to practice. I felt your anger, too. What in the Force were you two doing in here?"

"Asajj and I were talking," Qui-Gon answered.

Dooku's eyebrow quirked slightly at his familiar address. "About what?"

"Hypocrisy," replied Asajj darkly. "Betrayal."

"Difficult subjects." Dooku glanced at his former apprentice. "Are you well enough on your own now? Padawan Ventress and I have much work to do today."

"Oh, I'll be fine," said Qui-Gon airily.

Asajj bent down and pushed the fruit towards him. "You should probably eat something, Qui-Gon," she said quietly.

"Thank you, Asajj," he replied, sounding a little surprised and a little touched at the gesture. Dooku was watching them out of the corner of his eye as he adjusted his clothing, rumpled from sitting.

"Come along, Padawan," Dooku ordered. Asajj trotted out behind him, the flush of emotions still high and red on her cheeks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Sanerontheinside for her speedy beta of this chapter! I hope you enjoy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj and Dooku discuss lineage.

All of Dooku's internal laughter stopped instantly the moment they stepped foot into the Halls of Healing. Fear started rolling off Asajj in waves. She still held herself the way she always did—a little stiffly, perhaps, given the unfamiliar uniform, but her chin jutted out with that edge of defiance she wore like armour. Without the Force, he would have never known there was about to be a problem. From the end of the quiet, antiseptic-tinged hall, Master Mezar Zane was making their way over to the newcomers. In a quiet undertone, Dooku spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Master Zane will not hurt you in any way, Padawan. They are specially trained in the care of apprentices. You may ask them to stop at any time, for any reason. If you wish me to be present, I will join you. Otherwise, I shall wait on the other side of the curtain."

She did not move her head, but she flicked her eyes towards him while she kept a close, suspicious watch on the approaching Healer. "I'll be fine," she told him, her voice even. Her fear in the Force, however, had not diminished.

Brave, where many Jedi argued and fought and made excuses, but she would not appreciate him acknowledging her courage. That would require him to also bring her fear into the open. He held his tongue.

The yellow-skinned Zabrak smiled as they approached. "Good day. Padawan Ventress, I presume?"

"Yes." Clear and confident, with a polite nod of her head. Remarkable.

"Excellent. I'm Master Zane, and I have you scheduled for a medical intake appointment and checkup. Will your Master be joining us today?"

Dooku could see her clench her jaw in annoyance, but to her credit, she held her temper and simply shook her head. Perhaps yelling at the Grand Master of the Order had been enough for her to keep her temper for the rest of the day?

"Come along, then. Master Dooku, I will remind you that new Padawans, especially those coming from off-world, must report to the Healers immediately upon arrival?" Zane glanced at him with a frown.

"My apologies, Master," replied Dooku with a touch of deference. Asajj was glancing at the two adults with a very small frown turning down the corners of her mouth.

"Hmph." Zane turned their attention to Asajj and beckoned with one hand. "This way, Padawan Ventress."

Dooku trailed after them and found an uncomfortable chair outside the curtained exam area. He kicked himself for not bringing a book, and so instead slipped into a light meditative trance to pass the time. It took three aborted attempts before he successfully quieted his mind; the image of Asajj yelling at Yoda kept bubbling to the surface, and every time he had to hide a smile behind his hand. The sound of the curtain parting and the light touch of Zane's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the Halls of Healing. The Zabrak was frowning, pulling their facial tattoos out of shape.

That was never a look you wanted to see on a Healer. Dooku was on his feet instantly. "What is it?" he murmured, conscious of the heavy silence around him. The traitorous organ residing in his skull immediately threw out three or four scenarios in which his apprentice was medically unfit for Jedi training, or worse, dying. He stomped on the thoughts, taking an extra breath to calm himself.

"That poor girl has never seen professional medical care in her life," Zane hissed. "I only needed to do scans and bloodwork, and I only did half the exam. She's _terrified._ "

"I suspected the former," replied Dooku. "She was rescued from slavery."

"Yes, on Rattatak?" The name was awkward on their lips. "I've never even heard of it."

"It's not a place worth hearing about."

"Hmm." Zane brought up their datapad and stabbed their finger at the screen. "She's severely malnourished. I'd bet that if I could convince her to take off her robes for the physical exam, I could count her ribs from across the room. I can't tell her exact age, and she doesn't actually know her birthday. I'd say no more than fourteen, but her growth's been stunted. While my database isn't particularly complete on the matter, it's likely that she comes from the witch clans of Dathomir. Her midichlorian count stands at a solid 10,000. She has the beginnings of scurvy, which I've fixed with a vitamin injection. I've given her some medication for internal parasites, but she needs a second dose in a few days." Their voice lowered even further. "I managed to get her to pull up her sleeves for the bloodwork. She has scars on her arms, Master Dooku. _Blaster_ scars."

The revelation horrified him, but he managed to say mildly, "She lived in a terrible place, Master Zane, filled with terrible people who would do terrible things to young girls on their own."

Their lips pressed together in a hard line. "I see. I'll send some bacta ointment home with you. She can apply it morning and night until it's gone, and it should help, if not fade the scar tissue completely."

When they hesitated, Dooku asked, "And?"

Zane glanced around and whispered hesitantly, "She's damaged, Dooku. Traumatized. Frankly, I don't see her becoming a Jedi."

He bristled, pulling himself up until he towered over the Healer. "I believe that is my concern, Healer, not yours. Thank you for your expert medical care."

The Healer and the High Councilor stared at each other for a moment until Zane acquiesced and tapped on their datapad. "I'll fetch that ointment. You can take her home, come back in three days for her medication, and I'm sending a directive to the refectory—she is to be allowed food at any time, not just standard meal times. If she shows any interest in eating, you put food in front of her. Understood?"

From behind the curtain, Asajj's waspish voice was cutting. "I can feed myself, thank you very much."

Dooku tried not to snort at the sheer annoyance in his apprentice's words as Zane grumbled something under their breath and pulled the privacy curtain open on their way past. Perched upon the medical bed, Asajj looked much smaller and younger than she normally did. She glowered at him as she hopped off the bed. "I don't like being discussed as if I weren't on the other side of a very not soundproof curtain," she told him.

"I never liked it either," Dooku admitted. "It is, unfortunately, part of being a Jedi apprentice. Would you like me to tell you what Healer Zane said?"

She shook her bald head. "I heard it all anyway," she replied, a touch glumly.

Zane returned with a metal vacuum-sealed tin and held it out to Asajj. "Here you go, Padawan Ventress. I've given you the instructions, but they're printed on the label, just in case."

"Thank you, Healer," Asajj said stiffly, plucking the tin from the yellow fingers and stuffing it in her belt pouch.

"Three days, mind," Zane chided Dooku before shooing the pair towards the door. "Go have midmeal."

They left the Halls of Healing in silence, but as soon as they turned down a quiet hallway, Asajj said abruptly without slowing her pace, "I'm not traumatized."

Not knowing what to say to this pronouncement, Dooku remained silent and waited for her to say more. She glanced at him quickly before squaring her shoulders a little more. "I'm fine. Nobody did the things you implied. Not after Ky."

He hated asking. He hated that he had to ask. "And before?"

She stopped in the middle of the corridor and grinned the most malevolent smile he had ever seen. She would have terrified grown men. "I only had to remove one adventurous hand and feed it to the former owner."

Relief washed over him—thank the Force for small favours—but he said dryly, "Just the one?"

"Never underestimate the safety that fear provides. Or the power of talkative witnesses." She lifted her chin and resumed her march down the corridor.

"Oh, child," he murmured as he watched her hurry towards her next meal. At the corridor crossway, she paused and glanced over her shoulder, waiting for him.

*

They were early for midmeal, which gave Dooku the opportunity to go slowly past all the food choices with Asajj. He did not make any suggestions beyond what he particularly enjoyed, and to steer her away from a mislabelled item that contained raw meat. He allowed her to choose a table and found himself once again holed up in the corner with his back to the room; she took the seat against the wall and he approved of the strategic choice. He only wished she did not feel it necessary to have a solid barricade at her back.

Silently, they ate their meals as the room filled with Jedi; the noise level increased exponentially until the background noise became a dull roar. Asajj ignored them all as she polished off her meal. The penultimate bite was on its way to her mouth when she paused, her eyes fixed on the door. Slowly, she lowered the fork but did not shift her gaze. Dooku glanced over his shoulder and inwardly sighed.

Yoda had just hobbled through the door.

Now came the training Master's dilemma: did he force Asajj to go over and apologize for her behaviour, knowing full well that the troll had had it coming but also that he was the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, or did he let the entire incident slide, despite the possible problems that could erupt between his former Master and his current Padawan? With Qui-Gon, he would have obviously made him apologize; Qui-Gon was forever apologizing to everyone for his many— _many_ —missteps, and he had no qualms about it. For him, apologizing came as naturally as breathing until he was Knighted. Komari would never have shouted in the first place; she would have taken it out on her next, unsuspecting sparring partner. But Asajj was neither of them, and she was stabbing her fork into the last shred of meat on her plate with unnecessary force.

As if hearing his thoughts, she asked sullenly, "Are you going to make me apologize?"

He raised his eyebrow in the way that Qui-Gon had once dubbed 'the stupid question eyebrow.' "And why would I do that, pray tell?"

"I may be ignorant, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to yell at Master Yoda," she grumbled, still not making eye contact with him.

"You'll ace that portion of the Trials, then."

The dry joke was enough for her to finally aim her glare at him. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

"And you're not the first apprentice to tell me so." He stared back at her, unblinking, and her thin shoulders slumped under the layers of her tunic. Impatience warred with pity, and pity won. "Padawan, I'm not going to force you to apologize because a forced apology means nothing," he said simply. "If you are finished your meal, let us carry on with our day."

Slow realization crossed her pale features, but she said nothing as they carried their empty trays to the recycler. Considering caution the better part of valour today, Dooku steered Asajj through the crowds specifically to avoid eye contact with Yoda; nevertheless, he could feel his old teacher's narrowed eyes boring holes in his back as they wound through the refectory.

Asajj asked quietly, "Does Master Yoda have an apprentice?"

"Master Yoda has lived a long time," Dooku told her. "He has had hundreds of padawans, and has taught or mentored even more. He has decided his lineage is extensive enough. He hasn't taken an apprentice in many years."

She wrinkled her nose as she took his tray from him without prompting. "What's a lineage?" She shoved the trays into the recycler slot and wiped her hands on the sides of her leggings, at which he gave a disapproving glare.

"A lineage is a chain of teachers and apprentices. Master Thame took me as his apprentice, but Master Yoda took especial interest in my training; I rather think he would have chosen me had Thame not gotten to me first. In the last few years of my apprenticeship, I spent most of my time with Yoda as my talents diverged from my training Master's."

She did not reply until they were out in the corridor. "So Yoda trained you, and now you're in his lineage?"

"Yes, though his lineage has more branches than a tree. He has special favourites even though he shouldn't, not as the Grand Master. Those of us who he's taken on stretch the accepted definition of lineage, just so we can lord it over everyone else."

Disgusted, she stared at him for a beat. He enjoyed watching the transformation of her pale face as she realized he was joking; it was like watching a revelation in real time. Asajj cleared her throat. "Then it's just a way of marking who trained who?"

"Who trained whom," he corrected. "And for many of us, our lineage is a family of sorts. When we enter the Temple, most of us never see our blood relations again."

"Why?"

"Many reasons, both practical and cultural, for both parties. Some families view the Jedi as baby stealers. Many want a clean break and do not wish for the reminder that they gave up their child. For most, the practicalities of travelling across the galaxy to visit are enough to discourage continued relations. The Order, on the other hand, generally feel that connections with one's family should, at the most, be cordial but not close. A Jedi's life is often a difficult path to walk without concern for a family; that burden has destroyed Knights in the past."

In silence, they walked side-by-side as she contemplated this. "I get the feeling that you don't entirely agree with that. Do you know your family?" she asked curiously.

He nodded, surprised that she had come to the correct conclusion from his little lecture. "My family is a great and powerful house on Serreno."

"That's not what I asked." She frowned at him, but he was pleased she had noticed his evasion.

"Jedi often live much longer lives than non-Jedi," he said softly. "My parents died of old age forty years ago, and my siblings a over decade ago. There is no one on Serreno who remembers me as a child, though my eldest nephew still writes to me about the goings-on of our house. He is a dutiful boy, if not as shrewd as I would prefer."

"I don't know where I came from," she murmured. "I don't even know if my name is my own."

"You wish to find your mother?"

That earned him a heated glare; a bristling anger hid deep hurt in the Force. "She cared nothing for me," she spat. "She did not choose me."

"Sometimes we must make terrible choices." Even as he said it, he regretted trying to make this a learning opportunity; the poor girl was nothing but jangled emotions in the Force.

"She chose to sell her child into slavery," Asajj hissed. This hurt was old, with sharp edges that appeared only when touched.

"For which I am glad," he told her. Shocked, she stopped and glowered at him with a mixed expression of anger and confusion. "A desperate action by a desperate parent suggests that the alternative was death for you both. I am glad that you are here, alive and well." _And part of my lineage,_ he longed to say, but it was too much, too soon. "So be Padawan Asajj Ventress, and let us begin a lesson in Makashi."

The shock melted into slight confusion, quickly buried as if by habit, and he gestured behind her at the private training salles. Perhaps he could chase away her heavy thoughts with an afternoon of 'saber forms. It always worked for him.

*

The afternoon, at least, had been a success. The speed at which Asajj picked up 'saber forms was astonishing, though a tendency to sloppiness crept in the longer they worked. At first, he chalked it up to Ky's poor training, but as time wore on, he realized that she was conserving energy by blurring the movements together. It was a skill for much older apprentice Knights—a field combat skill.

Pleased, he stepped back from her and deactivated his 'saber. "Well done, Padawan. I think we shall finish for the day." Nodding, she raised a hand to wipe sweat from her bald brow. "Deactivate your blade," he reminded her sharply.

"Oh! Right." The orange training blade disappeared immediately, and she placed the hilt in his outstretched hand.

He returned the training 'saber to the lockable cupboard by the door and beckoned his apprentice to follow him. As they approached the door, it slid open to reveal the tiny Aleena master, Koa Bu.

Profanity threaded through his brain, but Dooku managed a polite bow. "Master Bu, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know exactly why I'm here, Master Dooku." She pulled a datapad from the folds of her voluminous robes and held it out to him. "But perhaps I shall give you the benefit of the doubt, since it has been many years since you've taken a new apprentice, and remind you that all newly-chosen Padawans must enroll in their new classes within twenty-four hours of their Choosing or arrival at the Temple, which ever comes first. Since you neglected this critical step, your apprentice's classes have been scheduled for you."

Bu and Dooku simply glared at each other, neither moving a muscle, but Asajj retorted, "This is just temporary."

The clench around his heart was unexpected, and he closed his eyes against the assault of her words.

Bu turned her formidible, hawk-like gaze to the young woman. "It makes no difference whether the arrangement is permanent. All children in our care are guaranteed an education to the Galactic standard, no matter their status within the Temple. That means you," Bu stabbed the datapad in Asajj's direction, "are due in History of the Republic tomorrow morning at 0800."

Dooku bent down and plucked the datapad from Bu's fingers. "Thank you, Master Bu, for your attention in this matter. She will be in class as scheduled."

Without even a polite nod, Bu spun around and marched away as fast as her little legs could carry her. Asajj watched her go, disgust twisting her features into a frown. "Who was that?"

"The Master of Academics," he replied with a sigh. "I had hoped she had retired by now, but no such luck. If it makes you feel any better, she was just as efficiently horrible when I was a Padawan." He glanced at the schedule on the datapad, sent a copy to his personal computer terminal, then handed it to Asajj. "Come along, and I'll show you where the classrooms are."

He did not notice the growing line of worry on her brow as her eyes flicked helplessly over the words on the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! I'm back to the writing swing of things. The end of Grace, Too is finished... I just need to write the middle parts. Thanks to Sanerontheinside and MyUrbanDream for their enthusiasm and extra eyeballs on this chapter! You two are terrific.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj's first day of school goes about as well as expected.

The classroom was already full by the time Asajj paused on the threshold, and the noise of adolescents talking immediately stopped as every eye turned to her. A tiny part of her wanted to shrink against the stares, to flee—but Ky would have turned her around and shoved her back into the fray, and the slavers on Rattatak would already be shooting at her. She could handle thirty-odd spoiled brats. Chin up and her eyes narrowed, she strode to the remaining empty seat, front and centre.

She managed to pretend the whispering Padawans did not exist for forty seconds, until a slightly braver, or perhaps foolhardy, voice chimed just a little too loudly, "His last apprentice got thrown out just before her Trials. She doesn't stand a chance."

Her hands curled into fists. They had no fucking idea—

"You don't look special to me." A human, pink-cheeked and orange-haired, was sneering at her from the seat next to her. "You'd have to do something really special to be chosen so _old_."

She could not hit him. There were rules, and Dooku would disapprove. Instead, she twisted her head to offer him her toothiest smile, the one she saved for the moment before lighting her 'saber. "Does murdering slavers count as special?" she asked flatly, loud enough for the rest of them to hear.

A beat of pure silence answered her, and the blood drained from the orange-haired boy's face as he gaped at her like a fish. "M-murder?" he finally gasped, horrified. A fresh wave of frantic whispers rose around her.

"I'll show you my collection of teeth if you're interested." He did not need to know that it was only one tooth, because pulling incisors out of a Weequay skull as a trophy was actually quite difficult.

The boy's audible swallow was particularly satisfying. The rest of the class shifted into their seats with a flurry of scraped boots on the floor as an adult Jedi entered the classroom and stood at the front of the room. Asajj did not recognize the species, but the blue-skinned Jedi had _lekku_ that reminded her of Ahsoka. Maybe their species were related?

The blue instructor folded his hands over his stomach in a peaceful pose. "Good morning, Padawans."

"Good morning, Master Quamar," chimed the students automatically.

"It would seem that we have increased in number today," Quamar said, resting his gaze on Asajj. "Tell me, Padawan Ventress, when was the Galactic Republic founded?"

_Oh, fuck_. The answer was probably in the datapad that the archives had delivered to her quarters yesterday evening. The feeling of every eye on her tickled the space between her shoulderblades, and she forced herself to sit still. "That's what I'm here to learn," she replied honestly with a tiny shrug.

The blue of the man's face darkened slightly as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Very well, Padawan Ventress." He paused, and she relaxed minutely. She could do this, she just needed to listen and remember— "Please stand up and read the first page of the text to the rest of the class, so we may all be reminded of this very basic fact."

_What?_ A few snickers met the proclamation, and fear and anger rose in her in equal measure. How dare he mock her ignorance, and how dare he force her to display it to these horrible apprentices? She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Such a fact is only basic on Republic worlds," she snapped fiercely.

"And in this class," retorted Quamar, his voice cold. "Read the passage."

"Read it yourself." Asajj bit the inside of her cheek to steel herself as she pushed herself out of the chair and stalked towards the door.

As the doors slid open, she heard someone mutter, "See? Doesn't stand a chance."

Asajj waited for the doors to close before breaking into a sprint. There was a lump in her throat that maybe she could outrun.

 

*

 

Apparently, rumours spread among the Jedi children even faster than the adults; it was less than an hour before Ahsoka found Asajj holed up in her quarters. In her haste, Asajj had forgotten to lock the door, and Ahsoka slipped in with a hesitant wiggle of her orange fingers. "Hi, Asa," she whispered brightly. Her wide blue eyes took in the stack of datapads balanced precariously on the end of Asajj's bed. "Whatcha doing?"

Asajj, propped up against the wall and crosslegged on the bed, dropped her head into her hands and groaned. "I think my brain's stopped working," she growled.

Ahsoka grabbed the datapad from the older girl's hand. " _The Five Forms: A History of Lightsaber Combat_ ," she read with a furrowed brow. "Master Dooku has you reading 'saber textbooks?"

"I thought it would be more interesting than Galactic history," muttered Asajj, then her expression darkened. "If only I could read them."

The Togruta's eyes were moons. "You can't read?" she squeaked.

"I can read," Asajj retorted with a snarl, throwing a vicious glare at her friend. Ahsoka flinched a little, but did not step away. Asajj hit her head against the wall with frustration and added, "Just not in Basic." The silence that met her was long enough that Asajj peeked at Ahsoka through her lashes. Her little friend was deep in thought as she tapped her index finger against her bottom lip. "What?"

"Come on." Ahsoka grabbed Asajj's hand and dragged her out of her quarters. Asajj tolerated it, eager to escape the torment of the Basic alphabet and the shame that was threatening to take up permanent residence in her throat. The girls wound their way down three levels, dodging adult Jedi, until Ahsoka led her into what looked like a workshop. Five bays opened onto a central computer access terminal. Only one bay was occupied, lit with too-bright welding light and a few profanities in a guttural language she did not recognize. Shielding her eyes from the light, Asajj allowed Ahsoka to pull her forward to stand at the bay opening.

A humanoid was welding something together with single-minded focus, but switched the tool off as Ahsoka yelled to get his attention. "Hey, Snips. Who's your friend?" came the muffled male voice.

"Asajj Ventress, meet Skyguy."

Asajj turned a skeptical eye on the Initiate. "No way that's his real name."

The humanoid pulled off a welding mask to reveal a boy about her own age, though he was much taller and sported an untidy mop of curly blond hair. He chuckled and smiled at her. "Anakin Skywalker. Nice to meet you, Asajj Ventress." He squinted slightly at her. "I don't remember ever seeing you before."

Ahsoka lifted her chin. "She's Master Dooku's new Padawan."

"Sort of," Asajj blurted, lest people think their arrangement was permanent. Ahsoka squeezed her hand; Asajj had forgotten their hands were still clasped and gently extricated herself.

"A sort-of Padawan too old to be Chosen properly by _Dooku?"_ Anakin grinned. "I like you already. I could use some company in the weird Padawan club."

"It's not a real club," Ahsoka stage-whispered.

"It ought to be."

"You just want a social club credit allotment."

Their banter made Asajj's heart ache. They were clearly good friends, something she had never had, and it felt awkward watching them in silence. As though he had read her mind, Anakin turned his attention to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't ask you why you came to see me."

"When you came to the Temple, you couldn't read, right?"

"Ahsoka!" Asajj hissed, but Anakin merely shrugged.

"No one teaches slaves to read," he stated plainly. "It didn't take long to learn."

Shocked, Asajj blinked at him a few times. " _You_ were a slave?"

He nodded. "Tattooine. Qui-Gon found me, and Mace made me his apprentice." Flicking his blue eyes over her bald head, he asked, "You?"

Hesitantly, she replied, "Rattatak. I might have been taken from Dathomir, but who knows?"

Anakin was nodding with genuine understanding, but Ahsoka's expression was so heartbroken that Asajj could not bear to look at her. "So you need to learn to read, and you don't want Dooku to know that you can't," Anakin summed up. "I can understand why you'd want to hide it, but I don't know if you should keep it from him. Keeping secrets from your teacher is just asking for trouble."

The curly-haired boy was razor sharp and mild-tongued, which deflated the prickly, defensive argument that she had been formulating. "I only have three months here," she said lamely.

"So you don't want to waste your time learning to read," finished Anakin. "I get that. Well, there's one person in the whole Temple who can get you reading in no time and who will keep their mouth shut about it, too. Let's go."

To her surprise, he dropped the face mask on the workbench along with his thick, protective gloves. Next, he peeled off the heat-resistant apron and revealed stained and scorched work togs. "You're not going to change?" demanded Ahsoka.

Anakin shrugged. "Apparently time is of the essence."

Asajj could not help but ask, "Why are you helping me?"

Anakin tossed a smile over his shoulder. "Any friend of Snips is a friend of mine. And it's nice to have another weird Padawan around."

 

*

 

The trio made their way across the Temple so quickly that Asajj could not keep track of all the turns and staircases. At one point, they crossed a giant courtyard where a gaggle of tiny children wearing simplified versions of Ahsoka's uniform were chasing each other. Asajj froze, staring in wonderment at the creatures. It was rare to find children in public on Rattatak, lest they be snatched by slavers, and those who were seen had the hollow-cheeked, dull-eyed expression of broken spirits. These children, though—they were chubby and happy, without a care in the world. Ahsoka and Anakin exchanged a long-suffering look. "Younglings. Run!" Ahsoka urged Asajj before taking off with Anakin with a touch of Force-assisted speed. A raucous screech rose from the children as they chased the interlopers; a disappointed sigh rippled through them as the older children vanished through the door, until someone spotted Asajj still standing on the flagstones.

She was suddenly engulfed from the waist down by an assortment of younglings, some furry. Wide eyes stared up at her in a rainbow of colours, from the palest blue to burnished gold to inky black. "Hi," she said, grinning. She liked little ones. They carried no hate or oppression, and their limited guile was entertaining.

The tiny grips on her legs tightened. "Play?" A little ball of silvery fur chirped.

"Not right now," she replied, and all the children moaned in unison. "But I could come back when I'm done working?"

The furball sighed with dramatic disappointment. "Okay."

These ones wanted her to stay; they had no preconceptions about her or held no rumour-based opinions about her. Impulsively, Asajj managed to kneel down and opened her arms. Her new friends nearly bowled her over trying to hug her. The tiniest human she had ever seen reached up and petted Asajj's bald head. "Where your hair go?" she asked.

"I shave it," Asajj whispered conspiratorially, then bared her teeth. "So I'm scary." She growled, and they answered with a gleeful chorus of high-pitched growls and squeaks. "That's good. Keep practicing and you'll be scary, too."

She untangled herself and started across the courtyard. In her wake, twenty younglings growled and made faces at each other to the bewilderment of their two adult minders. Ahsoka and Anakin were waiting for her around the corner, and Asajj wrinkled her nose at them. "You don't like kids?"

"The younglings are great," Anakin replied, "in very small doses."

"The last time I ran into them, I got roped into cutting out flimsi stars for an hour," groused Ahsoka. "I had fingerprints on my _lekku._ "

Asajj grunted in disapproval, which kept her from opening her mouth and alienating her new friends, and Anakin beckoned them to follow him down the corridor. After a few more twists and turns, they entered an enormous, climate-controlled room. Filled with computer terminals, polished study tables, and shelves crammed with actual flimsi books, the room held a muffled silence that urged Asajj to speak only if necessary.

"Over here," Anakin whispered, leading them to an alcove closed in with frosted glass. He gently rapped on the glass with his knuckles, and from within, a thin, female voice replied, "Come in."

The glass slid open to reveal an old human woman sitting behind a large desk with neat stacks of flimsi books arranged along the sides. Her lined face was serene beneath her white hair, pulled back into a severe bun, but she broke into a smile upon seeing the intruders. "Anakin! What a pleasant surprise. Don't tell me you want an extension on that hyperdrive textbook. I only have one on Eedit, and there's already a waiting list. I need to digitize it into the collection."

"No, Librarian Nu," Anakin replied. "I want to introduce you to a new friend of mine. Asajj Ventress, this is Chief Librarian Jocasta Nu."

Asajj offered a bow, still awkward and more thanks to the robes. A glint of recognition flashed in Jocasta's eyes, but her face remained politely friendly. "A pleasure to meet our newest Padawan," she said. "Now, what can I do for you, because certainly you didn't drag her all the way down here simply to meet the old Librarian."

Chuckling, Anakin asked, "Has anyone ever put one over on you, Librarian Nu?"

"Never," she replied drily. "I was born old."

"Asajj is new around here," Ahsoka said tentatively. "She's Master Dooku's new Padawan."

Asajj could see the woman's eyes dancing in her placid face. So the old crone knew all this, and she was content to let them blunder on. Asajj did not have time for games. "I'd like to learn to read in Basic," she announced flatly. "I can read Rattataki and a little Weequay."

Jocasta did not bat an eye. "Wonderful." She rummaged through the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a datapad. She held out the slim grey rectangle with a smile. "Here's the first lesson. It's a combined visual and audio file, so if you want to study somewhere quiet, I suggest some headphones. Once you're finished, or you have trouble, come back and see me. Master Dooku's Padawan is always welcome here."

Asajj offered her best bow and hoped the woman could sense her gratitude. "Thank you, Librarian Nu."

"You're welcome. Now, off with the three of you. I have a shipment coming in from the Corellian Temple archives."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure posting this will light a fire under me to finish the next few chapters. There are 13 chapters total in this story, assuming I don't go insane and add something else. Thanks to sanerontheinside and myurbandream for their support and beta work!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoda makes an announcement, and Dooku deals with the fallout from Asajj's first day of school.

Yoda tightened his claws around his gimer stick—a telltale sign the wizened Master was becoming impatient. "To protect the Jedi, our responsibility is," he announced for the third time.

Dooku bit back a sigh. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows in the Council chamber. The dust motes danced in the deep golden light, and more than one Council member had drooping eyelids. They had been at this all day with no resolution, and Dooku was ready to call for a recess.

"Protecting the Republic used to also be our responsibility," Mace retorted. "This may be our only opportunity to send Jedi into the Republic again."

"Perhaps we could negotiate our return," Ki-Adi-Mundi added. A little too hopefully, Dooku believed. "You're our most seasoned diplomat, Qui-Gon. What do you think?"

Qui-Gon was staring hard at the floor tiles in the middle of the room, deep in thought as he stroked his beard. "On one hand, it may well be too soon to attempt contact with the Senate. Murdering the Chancellor in the Senate dome—Sith or otherwise—is not something even the most callous career politicians will easily forget." That earned a few murmurs of agreement.

"And yet, if we wait too long, we may risk becoming utterly obsolete and unnecessary as they figure out ways of solving problems without us." A louder ripple of agreement passed through the chamber like a breeze.

"So you have no opinion on the matter?" grumbled Mace.

Qui-Gon offered the Korun Master a wry smile. "I didn't say that."

"Well?"

"Send four diplomats. Masters without apprentices and with extensive diplomatic experience. Four is too many to meet with 'accidental,’ fatal mishaps, but not too many to get in each others' way. Four is enough to demonstrate our seriousness, and the Confederation's seriousness."

Dooku fought the urge to smile with pride and said in a low rumble, "It would seem you learned something as a Padawan after all."

"Just the one thing, my Master," Qui-Gon retorted cheekily. "I regret that my condition prevents me from accepting this task."

"Agreed to send anyone, we have not," snapped Yoda.

"Then we vote," Mace replied evenly, ignoring the green troll's testy tone. "We've been at this long enough, and the Confederation is waiting for our response. Those in favour of turning down the Confederation's request for diplomatic envoys to the Republic?"

Silence blanketed the room as only one shifted. Master Yoda raised his clawed hand with a defiant glare at his peers; the younger Council members avoided meeting his eyes but did not move to join him.

More quietly, Mace asked, "And those in favour of granting the request, with details and assignments to be made at a later date?"

Slowly, the hands lifted around the room. Even for the Council, supposedly the most learned, the most experienced of the Jedi, the undercurrent was reluctant and embarrassed to vote so forcefully against their Grand Master. Dooku himself fought the urge to shift uncomfortably in his seat as Mace's eyes swept over his raised hand. "Very well. We have agreed to the Confederation's request. Schedule a meeting with the courier for tomorrow afternoon," he added into the comm system of his seat, where the Council secretary could hear the instructions from her desk in the antechamber.

"If we are finished for the day," Dooku said, "I have other responsibilities that require my attention."

Mace flicked his gaze to Yoda for further direction, but the wizened Master was already clambering out of his seat with an aura of irritation. "This meeting is dismissed," Mace announced with a small frown for Yoda's silence.

Dooku watched Yoda go with a hawkish gaze. He gave the troll a minute's head start before following and catching him in the corridor. "Master, you're acting suspicious," Dooku said easily, as if discussing the weather.

"Hmph."

Together they made their slow way down the corridor, Yoda leaning heavily on his gimer stick, until Dooku had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Would you care for my assistance, Master?"

Yoda glared up at him for a moment with pursed lips, before nodding once. Dooku knelt down and allowed the old Jedi to scramble up onto his shoulders. With the gimer stick snugged up against his armpit like a drill cane, Dooku continued down the hall. He could sense unease in his little teacher, which had become increasingly common after their defeat of Darth Sidious in the Senate dome. "Tell me," he rumbled quietly.

Sighing, Yoda's claws tightened against Dooku's shoulder. "Retiring, I am," he announced.

Of all the things he had been imagining, that was not one of them. "You're not serious," he blurted out.

"Very."

"You can't," Dooku said flatly. "You are the Grand Master of the Order. You can't retire."

"Retire, I can, and retire, I will, Dooku. Nine hundred years old, I am. New leadership, the Jedi need," he said, his voice soft.

"No, what the Jedi need right now is stability in the face of massive upheaval. You can't just abandon us like that," protested Dooku. "The Order needs you."

"My stick, I need. A smack to the knees, you need," grumbled Yoda sourly.

"Have you told the others?"

"Told only you, I have. Special privilege, my Padawan has." Dooku snorted. "Tell Mace tomorrow, I will."

"Oh, to be a spider on that wall."

"Keep your own counsel on this, I expect," Yoda warned as Dooku approached the old Master's quarters. "Not even to Qui-Gon will you mention my decision."

Dooku knelt, allowing Yoda to scramble off his back and onto solid ground. He handed him the gimer stick. "I wish you would reconsider, Master."

Yoda squinted at him, ears twitching, before disappearing into his quarters without another word.

*

Dooku had not even toed off his boots before the door chimed. "What?" he snapped. He had missed midmeal, and his stomach was gnawing on his backbone.

Jocasta poked her head over the threshold. "Do you know what your apprentice was up to today?"

"I would have heard if she punched someone, so no?" he retorted, waving her in. She only stepped in far enough to allow the door to close behind her. Thin lips pressed together and arms crossed over her tabards telegraphed her annoyance—but with whom? "Oh, Force, what did she do?"

"I'm sure you have a message from Master Bu waiting if what the rumour mill says is true, but in my opinion, her behaviour was justified."

"Jo, what did she do?"

"It's what you neglected to do, Dooku. I know you haven't taken an apprentice in a very long time, but surely you haven't forgotten to check that they're literate?!" Her voice became more shrill with each word.

Fuck. He groaned audibly, frustrated with his own oversight. "I didn't even consider that," he admitted through gritted teeth. "She was a slave before Ky found her. I rather assumed he would have taught her."

"Well, whatever the reason, Ky did not—though I would happily strangle him for it—and you have a girl who feels too ashamed to ask you for help, or too proud, and neither of those are particularly admirable."

Dooku almost bit back that his apprentice was clever enough to find resources on her own, discreetly as a diplomat to protect her own standing. Despite the situation, he was more than a little proud of her. Instead, he said, "Can she read at all?"

Jocasta huffed. "Rattataki. Which, by the way, is not a formally archived language in the database. I had to do some digging. Turns out the oral language of the Rattataki became a Rattataki-Weequay pidgin using the Weequay alphabet. It's a slaver's creole now." She rolled her eyes at his next obvious question. "I've already found it. I had to make a few comm calls, but it's now in the language database and translation matrix. Here."

She held out a datapad. The interface displayed unfamiliar symbols. With deep gratitude, he took it. "Jocasta, I owe you."

"Some of that expensive whiskey of yours wouldn't go amiss," she replied with a sniff. "Now, for Force sake, give that to your poor apprentice and let her stop fretting."

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek softly. "Thank you."

"That doesn't work on me," she replied gruffly, but she was smiling. "Go on."

_*_

Asajj looked surprised to see him this late in the evening. "I must apologize for my absence today, Padawan. The meeting ran far later than anyone had anticipated. You've eaten?"

"I kept busy," she said, shrugging. "And yes."

"I did not bring you here so you could keep busy. I brought you here to become a Jedi Knight, and so, I apologize." He offered the Rattataki datapad, and she took it without looking at it. "I expect you to have read it all by morning."

He turned and walked away. A heartbeat later, she radiated pleased shock in the Force. There would be a time to teach her to mask her emotions, but not today. Today he would enjoy the dancing glee over something so easily provided. As he slowly approached the corridor intersection, he wondered how it would feel when she visited Ilum for the first time; unbidden, he wondered what it would be like to Knight her.

The thought stopped his feet.

He had imagined the same with Komari. They had been so close to that moment before everything imploded, and his relationship with Asajj was precarious.

At least he knew Asajj was keeping things to herself.

At least his expectations in this relationship came one day at a time.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he decided to find the whiskey in his cupboard. A small, familiar voice cleared her throat as he lowered his hands. "Master Dooku, I must speak with you," said Master Bu, her blank face contrasting with her condescending tone.

"Yes, Master Bu?" he replied, inwardly groaning.

"There was an incident with your Padawan in class today," Bu told him, skipping any preamble. "She refused to answer the instructor's questions, and when confronted, she was rude and left the class without permission. I cannot allow behaviour like that in classes. It is disruptive, disrespectful, and impacts the learning of everyone else in that room—"

"Master Bu," Dooku interrupted, perhaps more sharply than he intended. "While I cannot excuse rudeness, there are underlying reasons behind Padawan Ventress' behaviour that I have recently rectified."

Bu frowned. "She challenged the instructor's authority."

"And did the instructor provide any kind of leeway for a new student who has never received a moment of formal education? Did he not read the message I sent, warning him of possible conflict as she adjusts to her current situation?" Dooku challenged, bristling at the carelessness the Master of Academics and this foolish instructor seemed to embody. "I hold her to no fault in this affair, and I expect you to do the same, Master Bu. Tell your instructor to get over himself and adjust to having a student requiring special attention and care, or I will do it myself, and I promise you the latter option is not one you should take."

While Master Bu sniffed and readjusted her obi to gain some response time, Dooku felt eyes watching him. A quick tendril of the Force told him that Asajj was halfway down the corridor, pressed against the wall for better eavesdropping. She seemed shocked. _Oh, child. No one but Ky ever fought for you?_ "Is that clear, Master Bu?"

"Indeed, Master Dooku," retorted Bu. Without another word, the tiny Jedi marched past him and did not look back. He felt Asajj slip back into her quarters, still radiating confusion.

"And now for that whiskey," Dooku murmured, making a beeline for his quarters.

*

Sleep did not come easily that night. Asajj lay in her empty room with space for others and stared up at the slats of the bed above her. Every time she closed her eyes, that morning's disaster replayed against the dark of her eyelids. Even the gift of readable text had lost its appeal after midnight. She had screwed up with Quamar, and she had probably screwed up with that orange-haired idiot. She had also briefly considered her inability to admit her ignorance to Dooku another error, but then he had solved her problem without a word and argued with the Master of Academics for her. Every time she thought she understood him, he did something unexpected.

With a great sigh, she rolled towards the wall and dug under the edge of her mattress until her fingers grasped the cool metal grip of Ky's lightsaber. "What am I even doing here?" she murmured, hugging the cylinder to her chest. "Help me, Ky."

Several minutes passed before she could breathe slowly enough to slip into a light meditation. As her mind calmed, the soft, familiar presence of her old teacher washed over her. It was fainter than ever before, but the comfort was still there. "Today didn't go well," she told him.

Rueful agreement.

"I can't see how tomorrow will be better. I should go back. There are people counting on me." She could almost feel him shaking his head vehemently. "How can I sit and listen to people lecture about unimportant dates and times when there are children who need a protector?"

He felt … wounded.

"You think I should stay. Of course you do," she added, even as his entire presence burst with agreement. "Why did you send him, Ky?"

The Force was quiet, then, and she received no response. "Fine, don't answer. I just hope you know what you're doing, because I sure as hell don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super duper mega thanks to my lovely betas, Sanerontheinside and Myurbandream for their insights and flailing. Any errors are my own, of course. This story is officially finished, so look for the next chapters soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dooku and Asajj spend some quality time together.

As expected, Yoda's announcement caused an upheaval among the High Councilors. The green troll sat like a statue on his custom chair, closing his eyes to ward off both the sight of the Jedi around him all protesting at once and the pink light of the dawn.

Dooku steepled his fingers and rested his index fingers against his lips, and his silence did not go unnoticed by his former Padawan. Qui-Gon leaned over with a calculating look. "You knew about this already," he accused Dooku. With a single nod, Dooku confirmed Qui-Gon's notion. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because he asked me for silence," Dooku retorted. "Not all of us are shameless gossips, Qui-Gon."

Qui-Gon snorted as Mace raised his hands and voice against the torrent of upset. "Silence, please!" he shouted, amplifying his words with a touch of the Force. Dooku did his best not to wince, but he saw Depa cover one ear with her fingers and Yaddle pinned her sensitive ears back against her head in protest. The room fell quiet, and Mace sighed in relief. "Thank you. I believe I speak for everyone when I say that this is wholly unexpected, Master Yoda."

Blinking slowly, Yoda tightened his claws against his gimer stick. "Time, it is. Move into the future, the Order must."

"Surely you don't expect us to accept an immediate resignation?" asked Adi Gallia, more than a little scandalized.

"The Order is in a precarious position at the moment," added Eeth Koth plaintively. "Now more than ever, we require stability in our leadership."

"Made my decision, I have," said Yoda calmly. "Persuade me otherwise, your words will not."

Ki-Adi-Mundi, for all his binary brain, looked at a loss for words. "A phased exit, then. Would you at least consider that, Master? Allow us to plan for a change, rather than adjusting to the sudden loss of your guidance?"

Dooku snorted, drawing disapproving looks from the younger members. "He's retiring, Ki. He's not dead."

"I'm so glad you find this terribly amusing," snapped the Cerean.

"What I find amusing is that this group of adults is throwing a tantrum over the well-earned rest of our oldest member," Dooku said haughtily. "I would charge each of you to decide whether your protests are for the good of the Order or if they are rooted in the fear of change."

His declaration was met with stony silence, although Adi looked slightly abashed. Yoda was watching him through sleepy lids; he gave his former student a tiny quirk of his lips. Mace sighed his "put-upon Master of the Order" sigh. "Let's take a week to consider this fully." Yoda grunted in annoyance, but acquiesced with a nod. "The next order of business is the Confederation's request; send in the messenger," Mace said into his chair's comm system.

The wide doors, decorated with tone-on-tone scrollwork, pulled apart to reveal Dormé. The young woman strode confidently to the centre of the room and offered a small bow as befitting a government representative to the Jedi High Council. She wore her travelling clothes and hid her hands in her cloak like a Jedi might. "You have reached a decision, Master Windu?" she asked bluntly, and Dooku approved. She, and by extension, the Confederation, were tired of waiting.

"We have, Messenger Dormé. The Jedi Council has agreed to your request for ambassadorial services. We will choose four Jedi Masters to join your staff on Coruscant after some further consultation."

Dormé nodded, but relief drained the tension from her dark eyes. "The Confederation thanks the Order for their dutiful and generous service, Master Windu. I will leave at once to relay the news to the Confederation Parliament."

"May the Force be with you," Mace replied. Dormé bowed once more, turned on her heel, and walked out. "Now, if no one else has any bombshells, I'm declaring a rest day. I don't want to see any of you for at least thirty eight hours."

Troubled and silent, the High Council filed out of the chambers, leaving Mace and Yoda to argue alone. Dooku was glad to shed the tension of the room as the doors slid shut behind him. Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say something, but a soft pair of fingers on Dooku's wrist interrupted them both. The handmaiden had slipped out of the shadow of a pillar. "Master Dooku?" she said quietly.

Masking his confusion, Dooku raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I realize that the Confederation does not have the authority to dictate who the Jedi send to the Republic, but should you have any say in the matter…" She hesitated, and Dooku swallowed an exasperated sigh.

"Who does the Confederation want?"

Dormé offered a slight smile. "You, Master Dooku. Your…disdain…for the more disreputable practices in politics is well-known. The Confederation would appreciate a lead Jedi diplomat experienced with politics and negotiations who will also not accept any foolishness from either side." Stepping back with a slight bow, Dormé smiled at Qui-Gon. "My mistress sends her greetings, as always, Master Jinn."

"Please send along my best wishes to Representative Amidala," replied Qui-Gon.

"Certainly. Please excuse me, gentlemen, I have a transport to catch."

The men watched her hurry away. Once she was out of earshot, Qui-Gon blew a breath through his lips. "Lead diplomat, my Master?"

Dooku glared at him with a sour expression. "We are not sending anyone with apprentices, Qui-Gon, remember?" He was met with silence and an appraising look from those damned blue eyes. Dooku snorted. "Excuse me. Some of us don't have the luxury of whiling away the hours with our young, handsome husbands."

Qui-Gon smirked. "Thank you for the idea, my Master."

"Bah!"

 

*

 

A scheduled rest day. No Council, no disasters, hopefully no run-ins with Asajj's instructors. Dooku wandered through the halls of the Temple like a wraith, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with a few hours without the responsibilities of a High Councilor. He approached a corridor intersection and paused to decide if he wanted to head outside to meditate in the morning sun; a gentle finger on his shoulder startled him.

The crèchemaster, Telo Pakka, was watching him with her peaceful red eyes. "My apologies if I startled you," she said, "but I had to speak to you about Padawan Ventress."

He groaned inwardly. What now, and from the crèchemaster of all people? "Yes?"

Master Pakka beamed, her violet face breaking in half with the ferocity of her smile. "It is so refreshing to have a Padawan spend her free time with the little ones. They adore the attention. I just wanted to let you know she's welcome at any time."

Dooku blinked at her. "I'm sorry, but you said Ventress?"

"Oh, yes, Master Dooku." At the slightly stunned quality of his eyes, the Keshiri beckoned him with a crooked finger. "Come see for yourself."

Confused, he followed her to the crèche; the closer they approached, Dooku realized that Asajj was supposed to be in class. Irritation rose in him. He had trusted her to go to class, to do as she was bid while he was in his meeting—he could not and should not have to supervise her every minute of every day—

Every negative thought vaporized the moment Pakka stopped in front of a large one-way mirror and gestured for him to watch the scene inside. In the middle of a carpeted playroom, Asajj sat cross-legged with two tiny younglings perched in her lap. She appeared to be listening intently to a little Wookiee speaking in Shyriiwook—a little _too_ intently. A trio of younglings, two Bothans and a human, were sneaking up behind her; they were about to reach out and grab her bald scalp when she snapped her head around and growled at them dramatically. The younglings dissolved into howling laughter at being caught, and Asajj reached out to tickle the nearest child. In retaliation, the rest of the younglings piled on top of her with triumphant yells.

Dooku could not look away. For the first time, he saw Asajj with no walls up, no barbs, no acidity. She was more relaxed than he had ever seen her. The grin on her face, genuinely happy and full of mischievous laughter, lifted a weight from his shoulders that he had not recognized as worry for her. As if sensing his presence, the grin fled. She extricated herself from the pile of younglings with soft hands and whispered words, displaced the last child from her lap, and unfolded herself from the floor. Master Pakka opened the door, and Asajj straightened her tunics with an unpracticed hand and a guilty look. "Were you looking for me?" she asked him, her voice a mix of forced confidence and underlying nervousness. She knew she was not supposed to be here now, and she knew that he knew, and so he let it drop for the moment. He wanted to see her at ease again, possibly with that smile.

"No, actually," he replied quietly, but then the words tumbled in a rush, desperate to be out before he changed his mind. "Master Windu's called a rest day, so I was wondering if you'd care to join me this afternoon in my quarters. I usually spend my rest day reading, and perhaps you could bring your course materials and we could go over your assignments together…" He trailed off before the babbling got out of control. "If you'd like."

Asajj nodded without hesitation. "Okay."

"Good," he said gruffly in an attempt to keep the surprise and odd feeling of relief from his voice. "1300 hours."

She nodded before wading back into the tide of younglings, who cheered at her reappearance.

 

*

 

Dooku spent the rest of his morning tidying his already-spotless quarters. When he discovered he was out of caff—and really, he had probably been out of caff for _years_ —he marched over to Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's rooms and stabbed the keypad with his thumb.

A longer than usual pause had Dooku tapping his foot impatiently. Obi-Wan finally opened the door. The high flush on his fair cheeks spoke as much as the mis-buttoned shirt, and Dooku snorted. "Newlyweds," he clucked, but Obi-Wan ignored the barb.

"Is there an emergency I haven't heard about?"

"I need to steal your caff," retorted Dooku.

Obi-Wan's grimace was comical. "Over my dead body. I'm running messages like a brand-new Knight. Caff is my sanity."

"I need enough for a few cups, that's all." When Obi-Wan's suspicious glare did not recede, Dooku added a touch plaintively, "It's for Asajj."

From the bedroom, Qui-Gon bellowed, "Just give him what he wants and get back in here."

Dooku rolled his eyes and smirked as Obi-Wan blushed a little more. "Wait here," the Knight hissed.

"Believe me, I'm not coming in," Dooku called after him. Obi-Wan returned from the tiny kitchen with a container of dark grounds and thrust it at his grand-Master. "Shall I put a do-not-disturb on your keypad for you?" he said sweetly, which earned him a string of Huttese invectives and the door shut almost on his nose. He chuckled all the way back to his own rooms.

To his shock, his doorchime rang exactly on the hour. Asajj stood on the threshold, gripping a few datapads. "Uh, hi," she said awkwardly.

"Come in, please, Padawan," Dooku said. Manners helped; manners covered nerves. "Have a seat."

Asajj wandered slowly to the couch, head swivelling as she openly stared at the unfamiliar rooms. "Nice place," she remarked.

"The rooms are more than adequate," he agreed, ducking into the kitchen to fetch the tray laden with caff and tea. "What did you bring to work on?"

"Numbers?" she said hesitantly.

As he set the tray down on the low table in front of the couch, he furrowed his brow. "What kind of numbers?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Calculations of some kind?" She held out a datapad, and he plucked it from her fingers as he sat down on the other end of the couch.

"Physics," he corrected.

She shrugged. "I don't know what that is."

"The study of matter and energy, and how the two relate," he replied. "This assignment is specifically asking to calculate trajectories."

"I still don't know what that is," she protested.

"The path of an object."

She huffed in frustration. "Why don't they just say that, then?"

"Because they wish to use one precise word in the place of many imprecise words. Have some caff," he said absently as he scrolled through the assignment. An idea occurred to him, though he tried not to think about the implication. "Padawan, if I had a slugthrower and I fired it into the air, where would it land?"

Asajj paused in the middle of adding too many sugar cubes to her beverage and wrinkled her nose. He was quite certain that was her "stupid question" tell. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On a bunch of different things. What kind of thrower, how big the ammunition, the angle of fire, wind conditions. Gravity of the planet. Atmosphere." She stirred her caff twice with the little spoon on the tray and took a sip; she grunted softly in approval. "Skill of the shooter."

"And what does it take to calculate that?"

"Calculate?" she parroted in surprise. "I don't calculate that. Anyone with a brain can figure out where the next slug's gonna hit if you're paying attention. You're dead if you don't."

Carefully, Dooku placed the datapad on the table. "Master Bu should not have put you in that class," he rumbled.

"Why not?"

"Because you're both over- and under-qualified for it," he replied. "Your grasp of the concepts in action are absurdly advanced for your age, yet you do not have the mathematical background to solve the problems theoretically."

"Why would anyone solve that theoretically?" she asked with a snort.

"Because it comes before understanding things like hyperdrive calculations," he told her. "Is this the class you skipped this morning?"

She had the grace to look slightly abashed, but she looked him in the eye and said, "Yes."

"I will have to review your class placements in more detail, but I expect you to attend your scheduled classes, Padawan. In educational terms, you are behind your peers, and you do not have the time to waste."

Asajj's reply was cut off by the door chime. With an irritated sigh, Dooku called, "What?"

Plo Koon and Yaddle stepped into his quarters, and Dooku rose to greet them. Unsure what to do, Asajj stood, holding her caff like a nervous statue. "I'm quite certain I heard Mace call a rest day," he reminded them caustically.

"Indeed he did," Plo replied.

"And I have no further insight into Yoda's announcement," he added. "I know as much as you do."

"We wish to discuss the diplomatic mission," Yaddle said. "There's a general agreement that you should go, Dooku."

"Agreement, perhaps, among those who are not me, Yaddle. I have no interest in toiling away back on Coruscant, surrounded by people trying to kill me," Dooku retorted. "Go bother someone else with this, please."

"Your skills in diplomacy are legendary," Plo protested. "Your presence could significantly improve our chances of being welcomed back to the Republic."

"Or I might just alienate everyone."

"Dooku—" Yaddle said warningly.

"I'll think about it, yes?" Dooku said with a sigh, stepping forward slightly to hint at his unwelcome guests that it was time to leave. Plo nodded, his expression hidden behind his mask, and Yaddle squinted up at him.

"Think carefully," she admonished. "This is important."

"Of course, Master Yaddle. Enjoy your day off." The door hissed shut behind the Councilors, and Dooku heaved a heavy sigh. "My apologies for the intrusion, Padawan. Do you have another assignment to look over?"

"No," she replied softly. "But Librarian Nu translated a book for me to read."

At Jocasta's name, his focus returned to his apprentice. "Oh? A Jedi text?"

Asajj picked up a second datapad. " _The Adventures of Vima Sunrider_ ," she read aloud. "Librarian Nu said it was a 'cracking' read, whatever that means. She seemed enthusiastic."

"It was her favourite as a child," he told her as he fixed himself a cup of tea with honey and reclaimed his spot on the couch.

"Huh." Asajj sat back down, eyes glued to the datapad.

They read in silence as the warm sunlight streamed in through the windows and slowly inched over the beige carpet. Asajj eventually toed off her boots and curled her feet underneath her, while Dooku stretched his long legs and rested his heels on the table. About an hour into their afternoon, Asajj shifted and made a crinkling noise; from the folds of her tunic, she produced a package of biscuits and set it on the cushion between them.

The smell of ginger hit him like a blaster bolt to the heart. She was watching him out of the corner of her bright blue eyes, waiting to see if he would take the treat she had brought for them to share, just as Komari had done once upon a time.

He had not said no then, and he could not say no now. Not when she did not understand, not when she would take a refusal personally.

Lifting the first biscuit from the stack, he murmured, "Thank you, Asajj."

"You're welcome," she replied quietly, sounding pleased.

He had to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he ate the entire biscuit and another one besides.

 

*

 

Dooku finally sent Asajj off for latemeal with her friends, citing a need to catch up on some paperwork. Asajj stacked their dishes on the tea tray and brought it to the kitchen without being asked, then collected her datapads. "Do we have plans for tomorrow?" she asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Would you enjoy a spar with Ahsoka and Obi-Wan? We could work on a few _jar'kai_ movements."

She swallowed the smile trying to escape. "I would."

"Then I shall meet you in the training salle at 1000. The rest of your evening is yours. Good night, Padawan."

"Good night," she replied. Not knowing if she should bow, given the informal setting, she just flashed him a little smile and hurried out the door.

She dumped her datapads in her room and was quickly accosted by Ahsoka and Anakin in the corridor outside the Padawan dorms. "Hey Asa!" Ahsoka said, grinning widely. "I have a surprise for you!"

"Is it sparring tomorrow?" replied Asajj dryly.

Ahsoka opened her mouth, then huffed in annoyance. "Yes. Master Obi-Wan just sent me a message."

"It's not a surprise if you tell everyone, Snips," Anakin chided. "If we hurry, we can get first dibs on dessert in the refectory. It's ice cream tonight."

"What's ice cream?"

Anakin's face was blissful. "It's the greatest invention in the galaxy after flying. Come on!"

The trio were, in fact, the first ones in line at the refectory; a droid came out to snap at them for being too early. "The refectory does not open for another ten minutes," it reminded them.

Anakin's stomach growled loudly. Asajj stepped forward. "I'm allowed access at any time, Healer Zane's orders."

The droid paused for a moment, as if checking its records, then stepped aside. "Very well, Padawan Ventress."

"And I'm not supposed to eat alone," she added, hoping her gamble would pay off.

"Affirmative," intoned the droid.

Asajj nodded, hiding her surprise, and marched past the droid. Ahsoka and Anakin followed on her heels, and Ahsoka snickered once they approached the stack of empty trays. "I can't

believe that worked," Ahsoka whispered.

"Me neither," admitted Asajj.

"I can," said Anakin, a little too casually.

Ahsoka eyed him suspiciously. "What did you do?"

"A little interference transmitted over very short distance," he said innocently. "It may or may not be a project for my advanced engineering study project."

"I get the feeling you're a little shit, Skywalker," Asajj said, and Anakin grinned.

"Potentially accurate."

Asajj was the first with a full tray, and she almost made a beeline for her usual table where she could have her back to the room. Not today. Not when there was nothing threatening her, and she had friends—actual friends—sitting with her, watching with her. Taking a deep breath, she deliberately chose a table in the middle of the room and sat down. There was no prickling feeling between her shoulder blades, warning of danger, and she managed to relax a little further when Ahsoka sat down next to her. Anakin slid into the seat across from them with a tray piled grotesquely high. He noticed her disgusted look and shrugged. "Puberty's a bitch. I think I'll need a new pair of boots by the end of the week."

Ahsoka dissolved into giggles. "Master Windu will be thrilled."

"Can I ask you something?" Asajj said suddenly. She had to know.

"Yeah," Anakin said as he eyeballed the first victim of the meal. "Of course."

"What's so important about Coruscant?" she said, her voice hushed. In the empty refectory, their voices carried.

"Coruscant is the Republic," answered Anakin. "It's the seat of the Republic government. Literally the centre of the galaxy. Why?"

She toyed with a green vegetable. "I think the Council wants to send Dooku there as a diplomat."

Ahsoka's eyes widened. "They want to send him to the Senate? Master Dooku?"

"I think so," replied Asajj.

"I got a letter from Padmé," Anakin confided in a low whisper. "She said the Confederation wants Jedi to represent them to the Senate. You did not, under any circumstances, hear it from me. It makes sense that they'd want Dooku, though. He's a respected diplomat, even if he hates politicians."

Asajj's thoughts drowned out the sound of Ahsoka making fun of Anakin's girlfriend. So Dooku might be expected to leave the Temple, for Force knows how long. Certainly longer than their three month agreement. Would he hand her off to some other teacher? Maybe she could stay with Qui-Gon until he returned—no, his duty to the Order as a High Councilor would come first over some ignorant, hopelessly unsuited apprentice.

Maybe Dooku would send her back to Rattatak.

For the first time, the thought scared her.

"You okay?" Anakin asked her, peering at her thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Of course," Asajj lied. "Everything's fine."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaps of thanks to sanerontheinside and myurbandream for their excellent beta work and gross sobbing!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj has a dream that's not a dream, and Dooku gets an offer.

Asajj was dreaming as the rising sun shifted the shadows around her room and slowly warmed the crown of her head, the only part of her peeking out from under her blanket. The birds in the courtyard outside were raucous, but it was Ky's voice that kept her eyes shut and body still. She could not see him, but it felt as though he would be perched on the edge of her bed if she just peeked through her lashes.

"Asa," he cajoled, grinning. "Time to get up, lazybones."

"If I do, you'll leave," she murmured.

"Watching you sleep, while sentimental, gets boring after a distinctly short time," he retorted. "You have things to learn, a whole life to lead, Asa. Get up."

"Life can wait. I want to stay here with you."

"That's impossible, my dear child."

She wrinkled her nose. "Why?" she asked petulantly. "I remember being told to live in the moment more than once."

The bed shifted under her, and his hoarse voice was soft in her ear. "You know why you can't stay here with me. You are alive, Asa, and I am not, and we are not meant to meet like this."

"Everything is possible with the Force," she retorted, and he chuckled.

"I never grow tired of hearing my own maxims thrown back at me," he sighed dramatically.

"You deserve it for leaving me," she told him, and immediately regretted it when the bed shifted again and his voice was further away.

"I never wanted to leave you like that," he said, his words cracking. "I should have done more to get us off that rock. I should have taught you more about the Jedi way, put you in danger less."

"I'd be dead."

He laughed mirthlessly. "I suppose you're right. I prefer it this way, then."

"He's not you," Asajj whispered. "He's so different from you, and I never know what he's thinking or what he's going to do next—"

"Asa—"

"—And then sometimes he's _kind_ to me, really genuinely kind, and I don't know why, or what I did to deserve it—"

"Asa—"

"—And I'm sorry that I liked reading next to him and eating biscuits, Ky. I'm sorry that we never did that—"

"Asa!" He raised his voice, but it was not sharp. "Look at me, Asa." His tone brooked no argument, and against her better judgement, her eyes fluttered open. Ky's shoulders were hunched so he fit under the top bunk. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were carved deeper as he smiled sadly at her, pulling at the tattoos beneath his lip. Those green eyes were exactly as she remembered, and a sob escaped her. She reached out to touch him, but  he shook his head. "I can't."

"How come I can see you?"

"The Force works in mysterious ways," he replied with an ironic quirk of his eyebrow. "I know, you hate that one. You can see me because this is the last time, dear one."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he replied gently. "I have to go. I've used all my time, begged for more, and this is all I have left to give you after Dooku." At his name, Asajj opened her mouth to explain, to reassure him that Dooku would never replace him, but Ky's eyes were full of pity. "No, Asa. I sent Dooku to you because I know you, and I know him, and if there ever were a pair of Jedi who needed each other, it's the two of you. I know you're going to argue that he's not me, and you're right. Dooku is not me, and I am not him, but he's the person you need right now. I need you to understand that, Asa, before I go. Don't ever think that I abandoned you."

"Then stay, Ky," she breathed. "Stay here with me."

"That's not how it works, Asa," he replied. "We will meet again, hopefully a very long time from now for you. I promise."

"No, Ky, please—" She was begging, begging with the Force.

"I love you, my dear Asa. Be a great Jedi."

"No!"

She opened her eyes.

Her room was empty save for sunlight.

 

*

 

She skipped breakfast by sending a note to Dooku about last-minute studying and slipping out of her room before the other apprentices in the dorms next door made their appearances. She paused at the door, then dashed back inside to grab Ky's lightsaber; she stuffed it into the folds of her uniform. It still felt a little like him. Wandering through the Temple, she turned corners to avoid meeting anyone, child or adult. A fifth hurried dash around a stone wall kept her from passing a knot of young Knights, but she ran straight into a solid mass of wool and silk robes. Blinking up at the speedbump, she cursed herself as Qui-Gon peered down at her. "What's your hurry, sister-Padawan?" he asked with a little amusement.

"Sorry, Qui-Gon," she mumbled. "I'll be more careful."

She tried to step around him, but he expertly slid in front of her to stop her without laying a finger on her. "Can I show you something?" he asked, and without waiting for her to reply, fell into step next to her as if they had been walking together all morning. "There's a courtyard around the corner that I find particularly interesting, and I think you'll like it, too. It's very soothing."

There was no ill-intent coming from him in the Force, so she continued to walk next to him in silence. They descended a set of three steps and walked out into a small, open yard that was perfectly round and filled with round planters. Wild creeping vines covered the walls and tall plants with enormous veined leaves filled the planters, leaving most of the courtyard in shade. To her surprise, Qui-Gon was right; the feeling of this place was particularly calm and quiet. It felt rather like Qui-Gon himself. He wove around a few planters into the centre of the yard, where a tiny fountain bubbled. "Come sit with me?" he asked as he eased himself down on the edge of the fountain.

Tentatively, she perched on the stone and kept her gaze on the fountain. Golden fish the size of her hand swam lazily through the clear water. The sinuous lines of their scaled bodies were hypnotizing; she let her mind wander away from Ky and Dooku for a brief moment. She could sense Qui-Gon was waiting patiently, but not expectantly. "Can I ask you a question?" she said softly.

"Always," he rumbled.

"What happens to Jedi when they die?"

He was silent for a long time. Finally, he trailed his fingers through the fountain. "That's a very complicated question, and there are many Jedi who would give you different answers."

"So you don't know."

"I don't think anyone really knows, Asajj. We are taught that when our bodies die, we return to the Force."

"No one ever … comes back?"

"The Force works in mysterious ways, and death is the biggest mystery of them all." His voice was gentle.

She snorted. "That's what he said," she murmured. Before Qui-Gon could ask who, she pushed herself up and bowed slightly. "I have to meet Dooku." She raced past him, ignoring the bewildered look on his face, and headed for the sparring salles.

 

*

 

Dooku was just pulling on his boots to meet Obi-Wan, Asajj, and Ahsoka in the sparring salles when his door chimed. He reached up and hit the keypad, and the door slid open to reveal a grumpy-looking Yoda leaning heavily on his gimer stick. This could not be good. "To what do I owe the pleasure this morning, my Master?"

"Too old to address me as such, you are," retorted the troll as he ambled past the human without an invitation.

"The question still stands." Dooku straightened, brushing the front of his coat with absent fingers. "Or have you changed your mind about this foolish retirement nonsense?"

Yoda glared at him. "Stand by my decision, I do. Your sarcasm, I need not."

Saying nothing, Dooku merely gazed at him, waiting for the old Jedi to reveal his reason for coming. Long green ears twitched irritably under his scrutiny. A deep sigh broke the silence as Yoda shifted his weight back onto his stick. "Accept my resignation, Mace will not, unless nominate a successor, I do. Been nagging me, he has."

"I see. Master Saa probably won't accept; she let it slip at firstmeal that she wants to join the delegation to the Republic, and I can't see how anyone would turn her down," said Dooku. Yoda was squinting at him with a neutral expression. "Oh, gods, you're not considering Yarael, are you? Please, for everyone's sake, don't let him back on the Council or we'll never get anything done ever again—" The little troll was still staring at him, but his expression was now one that Dooku remembered intimately from his years as an apprentice. "You can't be serious."

"Concern himself with the good of the Jedi Order, a Grand Master must," Yoda said quietly. "Good for the Order, you have been, Dooku."

Flabbergasted, Dooku had to avoid spluttering before he could speak. "I'm the very last person who should be the Grand Master, perhaps with the exception of Qui-Gon. Are you retiring because of _insanity_?!"

In that moment, Yoda seemed to shrink, as though a glamour dropped around him. He seemed brittle, stretched too far and forced to keep up. All of his 900 years settled over him. "Tired, I am, Dooku. Recovered from the fight with Sidious, I have not. Likely to never regain my strength, the Healers have told me." He sighed, a little puff of air escaping his wrinkled lips. "Rest, I need, yes. Rest, I have earned."

That explained Yoda's recent behaviour. Carrying on through his many duties even when pained and exhausted… Dooku knelt in front of his old Master. "You have earned it, Yoda. I would not deny you the opportunity to lay down your heavy responsibilities, but why would you choose me to take up this burden?" he asked softly.

"A new guiding hand, the Order needs now. Given us winds of change, the Force has. Proven yourself capable, you have, and the right person for this, I believe you are."

Dooku sat back on his heels in shock. Grand Master of the Jedi Order. Not in his lifetime had there been another Grand Master; Yoda had held the position since before Dooku arrived at the Temple as a toddler. The oldest and wisest of them all, the Grand Master was supposed to embody the best of the Jedi.

And Yoda, their oldest and wisest, believed Dooku could fulfill that obligation. "I-I don't know what to say," Dooku admitted, and Yoda scoffed.

"Meditate on it," he ordered. "Expecting your answer, Mace is."

"And if I refuse?"

Yoda hobbled to the door and spoke without looking at his former student. "Suggest it, I do not. Ask Qui-Gon, I might."

As the door closed, Dooku slowly rose from the floor and straightened his trousers automatically. Grand Master. The greatest honour a Jedi could hold in service to the Order. Never in his entire life did he imagine that he would one day be in the running for the job, let alone nominated by Yoda himself. Thoughts whirled in his mind, about all the changes he could make, all the lives he could improve with his guidance—

But there was already a life he was supposed to be guiding. Asajj needed more attention, more vigilance, more nurturing than any Padawan he had ever had; the clash between his duties as a High Councilor and as her training Master was slowly brewing, and it would not take much for it to bubble over into a serious problem. The Grand Master had even more responsibilities, putting both of them at a disadvantage.

_Grand Master of the Jedi Order_.

His comm chirped a reminder of his prebooked training salle. He touched his lightsaber to ensure it was in the proper spot and rushed out of his quarters, thoughts running at the speed of light.

 

*

 

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were joking with each other as Dooku entered the training salle. The little Togruta caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye, and whirled smoothly to offer him a respectful bow. "Good morning, my grand-Master," Obi-Wan said cheerfully, and Dooku gave a little start at the title.

Before he could reply, Asajj rushed in through the door with an indecipherable look on her face. She gave a general bow to the room that encompassed both Dooku and Obi-Wan. "Morning," she mumbled.

"Hi Asa!" said Ahsoka, who plopped down on the mats and began peeling off her boots and socks.

"Fetch three 'sabers from the locker, please," Dooku instructed Asajj. "Two for yourself and one for me."

Asajj nodded and hurried to the box mounted on the wall. The training 'saber hilts were mismatched, made with different stylings and materials, so she took one that looked about the same size as Dooku's 'saber for him. For herself, she grabbed a slightly curved hilt with a dull casing. Before selecting a third, her arm rubbed against the hidden 'saber in her tunic. The brief contact gave her the most fleeting sense of Ky, of safety and happiness. She pulled the hilt from her clothing and stared at it briefly; they were training, and she remembered how Ky would turn down the intensity of his 'saber when sparring with her. She twisted the control the way he had before their duels.

"Hurry up, Padawan," Dooku called, and she nudged the locker closed with her shoulder.

"Here," she said, handing him the adult-sized hilt.

"Thank you," replied Dooku, distracted with removing his short cape and loosening a few buttons on his coat.

Obi-Wan beckoned Asajj closer to the centre of the salle. He wiggled his toes against the mat. "Have you learned any jar'kai, Padawan Ventress?" he asked, pitched for her ears only.

She shrugged. "A little. We didn't use it often because we only had two 'sabers to begin with. Ky said I was a natural, though."

The smile he gave her was bright. "Excellent. Let's begin with a little spar, just to warm up. No hits above the waist."

"With both 'sabers?" asked Ahsoka hopefully.

"Yes, with both."

"Wizard," she breathed. Asajj thought the girl was going to die of happiness.

Dooku stepped onto the mats, still booted, and faced her. He paused expectantly, and Asajj remembered the protocol. She bowed to him formally, the motion coming more easily now despite the uniform, and he returned it almost absently. From the other side of the salle, Obi-Wan called, "Begin!"

As one, their lightsabers snapped into life. Asajj darted away as Dooku stepped towards her, telegraphing his next move for her benefit. He caught the swing of her training 'saber with his own yellowish-green blade and stabbed towards her knee; she leapt over the blade. She parried his swing and thrust Ky’s blade at his thigh, but something was not right, the Force was blaring in her brain--

The fabric of his trousers instantly melted away as the blade cut into the flesh of his leg, cauterizing the blood vessels. He dropped to the mats with a cry, clutching his thigh. His lightsaber snapped off and rolled across the mats. Asajj's pale face drained of life, and she stood paralyzed and ashen, unable to hide the terrified horror playing across her face. She had hurt him, tears of agony were sliding from the corners of his eyes, and _it was all her fault_.

Obi-Wan was at his side instantly. "Dooku? Focus on me," he instructed. "Ahsoka, comm the Healers and tell them they're needed for a lightsaber injury."

"On it," Ahsoka replied, sounding more confident than she looked. Her wide eyes kept flicking to Asajj even as she reached the comm panel on the wall.

Asajj watched Dooku as he grimaced in pain, unable to look away.

Ky had made the same face as he lay dying, and now she was responsible for hurting Dooku—the only person who cared about her, who made sure she ate and read, who taught her what she wanted to know and did not think she asked stupid questions even though she knew another apprentice would know, who never compared her to other apprentices, even his own, who seemed to be genuinely content to have her around—

She dropped the 'saber hilts and ran from the room, ignoring Obi-Wan's voice trailing after her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the end, folks! Thank you so much to sanerontheinside and myurbandream for their screaming and tears. They were delicious.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asajj and Dooku finally talk to each other.

"I am such an idiot," snarled Dooku as the Healer put the finishing touches on the clean bandage wrapped around his thigh. The tingle of bacta was already making him itch, and his fingers twitched against his opposite leg. "I should have checked her blades."

"I won't argue with that," Obi-Wan sighed. "Did someone tamper with the training blades?"

Dooku shook his head. "No." He did not want to say anything further; he now recognized the blade she had been using, which deeply upset him. She had promised to store it! What was she playing at, bringing a full-powered lightsaber into a training salle?

In a flurry of robes and hair, Qui-Gon rounded the corner and stepped into the cramped treatment room. "Are you alright?" he demanded, the lilt in his voice more pronounced with his worry.

"He'll be fine," the Healer replied without looking up. "A few days of bacta and rest. The injury wasn't deep."

"Thank the Force," breathed Qui-Gon before rounding on Dooku. "Where the hell is Asajj?"

Obi-Wan put his hand on his husband's arm. "Qui, she was the one who did this."

"Where is she?" he asked again. "I ran into her this morning. Literally. She seemed extremely upset, but refused to tell me why. She asked me what happens to Jedi when they die."

Dooku sighed softly. “Ky. Everything comes back to Ky. That 'saber belonged to him," he admitted. "I know she keeps things from me, but something's happened. Something catastrophic. I need to find her."

Waving the Healer away, he bit back a groan as he slowly shifted his legs off the edge of the bed. The local anaesthetic was wearing off. Both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were frowning at him. "You shouldn't be walking, Master," began Qui-Gon. "Let me fetch Asajj."

" _ I _ need to find  _ my _ apprentice," Dooku snapped. "Now get out of my way."

"Be back here in six hours for your bacta," the Healer told him. He huffed by way of response and hobbled out of the Halls of Healing without a backwards glance. The concern of the two men behind him was like sandpaper against his spine.

 

*

 

Asajj had not forgotten to lock the door, but still Dooku stood on the threshold. Her back was to him as she shoved her old clothes into a large bag. She could sense him in the Force, but not his emotions. He cleared his throat anyway. "May I come in?" he asked quietly. Politely. He wore manners like armour.

She paused, then flung her hand out carelessly. "Whatever," she replied, trying to keep her voice tightly controlled.

Dooku limped heavily as he approached her and sat gingerly on the bed across from hers.

"So you're going?" he asked mildly.

"I'm not staying," she retorted as she sniffed a pair of socks before tossing them into the bag.

"Where will you go?"

She shrugged. "Rattatak. Where else?"

"Do you need fare for a transport?"

At that, her bald head swivelled towards him. Her blue eyes held accusation. "I knew it. You're going to Coruscant and you're gonna send me back."

Taken aback, he replied, "I'm not going to Coruscant, and I'm not sending you anywhere."

She blinked a few times in surprise, but her anger returned in full force. "Then why aren't you talking me out of leaving?"

"Because I can't force you to stay, and you are old enough to make decisions about your future," Dooku replied calmly. He had to stay calm. She needed that. "You are a young woman who knows her own mind, and I cannot ignore or disrespect that. Asajj." He said her name hesitantly, and she stopped folding a shirt but dropped her gaze. "I know that I'm not Ky. I know you would never have accepted me as your teacher, and I probably wouldn't have taken you on as my Padawan. After Komari, I didn't want to take another apprentice."

"So you took me out of pity," Asajj bit out.

"No," Dooku said firmly. "Not pity. I saw a young woman in need of a teacher, of stability and safety and care. A brilliant, talented young woman in danger of turning to the dark side if left to pirates and slavers. A young woman who deserved a chance to do great things."

She grimaced and motioned to his injured leg. The evidence of her failure was staring her in the face. "And I blew it, as usual."

Dooku rubbed the aching muscles above his bandage for a moment. The self-defeat in her voice tugged at him, and he peered at her more closely. "Asajj," he said carefully, "do you think the Order is going to expel you? That I'm going to send you away because of this?"

"No one can send me away if I'm already gone," she replied heavily.

He stood, biting his cheek to avoid groaning, and moved closer to her. She reluctantly gazed up at him. "I have done you a grave disservice," he rumbled. "Asajj, injuring your teacher during a spar is not grounds for expulsion. You are in no danger of being sent away."

"I'm not?" she whispered, the uncertainty and relief making her sound as young as she actually was.

Dooku shook his head. "If we sent away every Padawan who ever bested their teacher in combat, we would have no Jedi," he said, fighting a smile. He could not smile; she would think he was mocking her. "If anything, this is my own fault for not checking your 'sabers. I was … extremely distracted this morning, and I sometimes forget that you were not raised here and might not do a safety check that would be automatic for another apprentice."

"I turned the blade down like Ky used to, but I guess I did it wrong," she whispered miserably. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I know," he replied, "and I'll be fine in a day or two. No lasting harm. I owe you an apology for not telling you the policies that govern us in training."

"Ky should have told me," she snapped angrily.

"No, Ky should have brought you to the Temple and trained you properly," he replied gruffly.

To his vast shock, her blue eyes filled with tears. She radiated a broken heart in the Force as she buried her face in her hands and stifled a sob. Finally. Finally, she was letting herself mourn. Her slender shoulders shook, heaving and trembling as she cried. He hesitantly reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, and before he could move, he found himself with an armful of sobbing, bald apprentice. She buried her head against his chest and held onto his coat with both fists. Keeping the embrace escapable, he rubbed her back in small, soothing circles. He let her soak his coat for as long as she needed, and when she pulled away, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, he produced a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket. He handed it to her wordlessly. She wiped her face and blew her nose, then stared at it with uncertainty. Dooku fought a snort and plucked it from her hand, then wadded it into his pocket.

"May I sit?" he murmured. Together they perched on the edge of her bed, the Jedi Master trying not to flinch as his leg hit the mattress and the Padawan looking miserably forlorn. "Why did you have Ky's lightsaber?" he finally asked, keeping his voice soft. He had never been accused of being gentle before, but he was not incapable.

She closed her eyes and hugged herself. It was time for the truth. Dooku deserved that much. "He left me," she told him haltingly. "This morning. He said he had to go, and that I'd never see him again. The 'saber is the only thing I have that reminds me of him."

He was silent for so long that she finally peeked at him. There was something in his hands—a piece of flimsi?—that he stared at as if it held the secrets of the universe. Slowly, she leaned over, craning her neck, to glimpse a flat image of a girl with flushed cheeks and a triumphant smile and a black eye. Beautiful and proud, with a perfect Padawan's braid hanging down her chest. "This is the only thing I have left of her," he said quietly. "I keep it in my pocket. I have to move it every time I put on a clean coat." His finger worried the edge of the picture as he turned to her with questioning eyes. "He left this morning?"

She nodded. "It was like a dream, but then it was like he was really here. He told me the Force works in mysterious ways, and that I wouldn't see him again while I was living."

"Has he been with you since he died?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

"Hmm." He leaned back a bit, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

"That's … not crazy?"

"No. No, Asajj, it's not." They carefully did not look at each other, each immersed in their own thoughts. Dooku stared at the flatpic of Komari. Her bright eyes had dulled over the years, but the expression was still as intense as the day it had been taken. He might never get a goodbye the way Asajj had with Ky. He had done his mourning for Ky many years ago, once it was clear he was never returning from the MIA list, but Komari? That wound in his heart might never close.

Asajj sniffled, and he glanced at the pale girl. In that moment, taking in the exhaustion of her grief, Dooku made a decision. He carefully folded the flatpic in half for the first time and tucked it back into his pocket. "I'm going to ask you something, and I would like an honest answer."

"Okay."

"Do you want to leave, Asajj?"

Asajj opened her mouth to offer some caustic quip about classrooms, but the serious look on his face made her pause. Did she really want to go? Was the prospect of returning to Rattatak, where her life was violence and starvation, really better than dealing with stupid adolescents and having to hold her temper in a place where she was safe and fed and just maybe valued? There were people on Rattatak who needed help, but was she really the person to provide it right now? All she had was a smattering of training and the Force. It was not much to offer—yet.

She was broadcasting a bit too much; Dooku's brow furrowed in concern, so she filled the silence before he could speak. "No, I don't want to go. Ky wanted me to be a Jedi, and I want that, too," she admitted in a small voice.

"Then I have a second question for you." She turned attentively to him, and he cleared his throat to give him time to prepare himself for actually saying it out loud. "Will you do me the honour of becoming my Padawan, Asajj Ventress?"

Wide eyes stared at him for a long moment, then she crossed her arms over her chest. "I thought I already was!" she protested.

He snorted. "I was hoping we could start over. Do things properly."

"Oh.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What's properly?"

No Padawan of his would blindly enter into an agreement; he nodded in approval at her suspicion. "You would be in my care, under my tutelage until I recommend you for your Trials to become a Knight. I would be responsible for your well-being and safety, as well as your education. You would be responsible for learning, for practicing your skills until you have mastered them. You would promise to obey my orders, and learn when to break that promise." She grinned at that. "Believe me when I say that isn't any time in the immediate future, up to and including the next fifty years, at least," he added drily, and she actually stifled a giggle.

"Do I have to live with you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not if you don't want to. I'd be happy with any decision you make on that subject, and should you wish to change your mind in the future, you have that right. You could stay here in the Padawan dorm."

Asajj's heart felt like it was slamming against her ribs. She thought the Force would be screaming at her, one way or another, but it was still. Waiting in anticipation. As if this was her decision and hers alone.

She rose and offered him her best Padawan's bow. "I accept your offer, Master Dooku," she said with utter seriousness.

"You don't have to call me Master," he protested.

Her pale face split into a wide grin that made her eyes dance. "I will call you Master by my own choice," she retorted.

"Very well, my headstrong apprentice," he replied with a genuine smile softening his features. "Since you have no hair for a braid, I’ll have to find you a necklace."

Asajj ran her fingers over her bald head. "I shave it, you know. I'm not naturally bald."

"It suits you. Makes you appropriately scary," he offered, and she bared her sharp incisors in a feral grin.

"That's the idea. Hair makes you vulnerable in a fight, anyway." She inhaled deeply through her nose and said solemnly, "I will do my best."

The Force was chiming its approval, and Dooku's heart felt lighter than it had in decades. He beamed at her. "That's all I ask, Asajj, and I promise to do the same."

"You may call me Asa, Master," she replied with a shy smile.

 

*

 

Dooku tried his best to keep the disgust off his face as they waited in the Council antechamber. Asajj was hiding a grin, badly. "Padawan," he said warningly.

"It's just, you look weird," she replied. "Brown's not your colour."

"No, it is not." The formal robes were  _ itchy _ , and he had the distinct impression that Mace was keeping him waiting on purpose. Asajj was decked out in a complete, formal Padawan's uniform. The silver necklace with a single blue bead denoting her rank was tucked under her robes; he kept trying to convince her that people needed to see it to know she was an apprentice, and she kept arguing that it was a liability in a fight and everyone knew who she was anyway. There had been some mention of a "Weird Padawan Club" that he was not going to delve into, so he had had to concede the point.

The Bothan secretary finally stepped out from behind her desk. "They're ready for you now, Councilor Dooku."

The doors slid open, and Dooku stepped into the Council room with Asajj walking exactly two paces behind him. They had practiced in his quarters that morning. He stopped on the centre tile, marked with the symbol of the Jedi Order, and Asajj came to a halt in the correct spot at his side, one pace behind. Together, they offered respectful bows; Asajj's much deeper than his own.

Mace raised his eyebrows at Dooku's clothing choice. "I was not aware this was a formal address, Master Dooku."

"Important occasions require gravity, Master Windu," Dooku shot back.

"Something important to say, have you?" mused Yoda.

"I have given your nomination to the position of Grand Master of the Order much thought, Master Yoda," Dooku said. Startled looks and a few murmurs greeted his statement. The bloody troll had not even told anyone about the nomination! He glared at Yoda, who offered an innocent face. "However, upon deep reflection, I'm afraid I must decline. Furthermore, as of this moment, I am resigning my seat on the High Council."

"What?" hissed Mace. "Without even some warning?"

"My apologies, Master Windu, but I am needed in a much more pressing capacity."

Mace's glower darkened. "And what, pray tell, would that be? Are you joining the diplomatic mission?"

"Of course not. That mission is for Masters without apprentices. I take Asajj Ventress as my Padawan learner, Mace. My time is hers until this Council deems her a Jedi Knight," Dooku said.

Qui-Gon was grinning from his seat. "Congratulations, Asajj," he said.

"Thank you, my brother-Padawan," she replied with a small smile. Dooku cleared his throat softly, and she grimaced. "I mean, Councilor Jinn."Qui-Gon twitched slightly at his formal title, and someone, possibly Adi Gallia, snorted in amusement. 

"If there's nothing further, I have booked a training salle for us this afternoon. Good day, Masters." Dooku reached out and touched Asajj's shoulder, and together they turned and marched out of the Council room, cloaks swaying as they walked.

"What are we learning today, Master?"

He leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, "I lied. There's no training this afternoon."

"Oh," she replied, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. He tried not to smile.

"How do you like the cold, Padawan?"

"It's not my favourite. Why?"

"Ilum is quite frosty this time of year."

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending, and I hope this delivers! Thank you for reading, and if you've gotten this far without commenting, please leave me a little note, even if it's just a few words. Comments fuel further writing! For those wondering about the POV shift in this chapter, it was intentional; they've gone from seeing things and existing separately to finally being on the same wavelength (plus I hate writing the same scene from two POVs. I find it tedious.)  
> So many humble thanks to sanerontheinside and myurbandream for their wonderful beta work. They've helped me more than they know, and they deserve all the thanks I can offer.


End file.
